


Constraints of Failure

by Some_Writer



Series: Turian Machinations of Spectres and Primarchs [4]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Established Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Guardian-Ward Relationship, M/M, Mass Effect 3, Mild Language, Minor Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, References to Depression, Social Anxiety, The Reaper War, Turians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer/pseuds/Some_Writer
Summary: Summary:Wake up, go to work, sleep. It wasn't exactly the life C-Sec officer Nellus Tragen wanted but it's the one he's got. Docking bay D-24 might as well be his second home for as much time as he spends there. Of course, finding himself guardian and protector to a teenaged human girl utterly alone in the hell that is the Reaper War has a way of changing things up a bit.Excerpt:“Stop!” Nellus Tragen shouted from the confines of his bed before rolling over, desperately clinging to the silence as long as he still could, knowing it was just a matter of time before-His discarded alarm started to beep, the sound steadily progressing in volume until it was buzzing insistently against the wall it had hit.Same shit, different day... with the ever-so-subtle addition of Reapers, that is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the works ever since I first posted [Raking Over the Ashes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192825/chapters/27683172) For those who don't know, I've taken the liberty of giving a back story to the turian C-Sec officer we see talking to that human refugee girl in Mass Effect 3. I decided to incorporate him as a side character, meant to just be a friendly face, but he ended up developing into something more and I was pleasantly surprised to read comments from people wanting to know more about him. So, for your consideration, here’s Constraints of Failure. 
> 
> **Disclaimers:**  
>  1) Bioware owns the Mass Effect universe. I just play in it. :)  
> 2) I’m doing my best to write this in a way that doesn’t require readers to have read the other installments to my series.  
> 3) I'm very fortunate to have a few betas to thank for all their feedback throughout this fic.  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 4) Rating will change on chapter 5, but I will provide warning for those who wish to skip explicit content.  
> 5) For the beautiful cover art you see below, I comissioned the talented [Theuselesspotoo](http://theuselesspotoo.tumblr.com).

The lining of his cowl tingled from the vibrations of his alarm clock, invariably dragging his mind from the sweet embrace of sleep into the abrasive waking world. Yet the torpid turian refused to go without a fight as his hand clumsily palmed for the snooze button, missing his target in his first several attempts. Embarrassing, given that the irksome device was clipped to the plating of his cowl to buzz vibrations into the lining– enough to wake even the heaviest-sleeping turian.

Forsaking his early morning inept dexterity, he settled for ripping the device entirely off and sending it on a one-way trip across the room. The sturdy gadget hit the wall, undoubtedly leaving a fresh mark in a myriad of scars left by past mornings, where it mercifully fell silent after its fall to the slate-carpeted floor. Settling back against his pillows, he allowed sleep to sweep over him again.

Then the room VI went off.

_“The time is 0615. Your shift begins in seventy-five minutes,”_ it helpfully supplied in a robotic, vaguely-turian voice and would continually do so, every minute, until told to stop. _“The time is 0616. Your shift begins in seventy-four minutes. The time is 0617. Your shift begins in seventy-three minutes. The time is 0618. Your shift-”_

“Stop!” Nellus Tragen shouted from the confines of his bed before rolling over, desperately clinging to the silence as long as he still could, knowing it was just a matter of time before-

His discarded alarm started to beep, the sound steadily progressing in volume until it was buzzing insistently against the wall it had hit.

Same shit, different day... with the ever-so-subtle addition of Reapers, that is.

Groaning, Nellus slowly unraveled himself from his rounded, turian-style bed. With one last, longing glance back at his warm sheets, ruffled and half-shaped where they had cocooned him, he stepped up and out from one of the few luxuries he allowed himself to splurge on.

He had just over an hour to get to work.

After addressing his screaming alarm and _lightly_ tossing it back toward his bed, Nellus stepped into the small corridor of his modest apartment and then beat his routine path into the bathroom across the hall. Like clockwork, he relieved himself before stepping into the shower. As he washed his body with his favorite plate scrub, his hand slowly lowered to his pelvic plates to massage them open as he thought about the last girl he’d had in his bed. Regrettably, that night was some time ago, but the memory still served its purpose, offering him what would always turn out to be the most exciting part of his day.

The release of tension dropped his shoulders and he braced against the white tiled wall until he regained his bearings. For a merciful moment, his thoughts were as obscure and fuzzy as the opaque steam that billowed around him. Hot water burned through his plates, soothing old aches and pains and it was so tempting to close his eyes just a little longer.

From behind his heavy lids an abrasive orange light cut clean through, accompanied by an even more obnoxious beep that demanded his attention. With a groan, he raised his omni-tool to read today's alerts through the rain of falling water that passed unobstructed through the small hologram. Due to the damage of several comm-buoys, the constant flow of reporting had diminished to a slow trickle.

The first was dated five cycles ago. Another colony –Pulan– to join Taetrus on the list of ground fallen to the Reapers as of yesterday. Great. He wondered briefly if the Hierarchy would spend any resources in an attempt to retake it as they tried – and failed – with Taetrus.

Nellus lowered his free hand, unaware of when it had crept up to follow the line of Taetrus-red tattooed along his maxilla. Willing the thoughts of his burning childhood away, he swiped to the next cheery news report dated three cycles ago.

A botched Hierarchy mission on Tuchanka. Wonderful.

 

**Tuchanka: No end to the Illusive Man's madness after Cerberus bomb is found.**

_This is Diana Allers reporting from the_ Normandy SR-2 _._

_At Primarch Victus' behest, Commander Shepard led a ground team planet-side on Tuchanka to lend aid to a Hierarchy platoon. Fortunately, they were successful at finding and disarming a Cerberus bomb before it could detonate, but not without significant losses for the turians. Neither the Commander nor the Primarch were willing to comment on the identity of the platoon at this time until next-of-kin can be found and notified._

 

Water invaded his nasal cavity as Nellus snorted at the last line. Chances were good all the next-of-kin were either just as dead as their family members or shambling around as husks.

The orange omni-tool flickered out when Nellus activated the shower drying function. Streams of hot air sent droplets of water skating across his plates to splatter against the walls around him. It was the last reprieve he would get before he was forced to don his C-Sec black and blues and crawl from his hole to terrify the masses.

With twenty minutes left until his shift, Nellus was dried, dressed and following his next familiar path to his merged kitchen-living room. His walls were naked of any décor save for the vid screen implanted into one. There was a couch placed before the screen in the center of the room, only one side of it regularly used with a cheap, hand-me-down kava table in front of it. Scattered rifle parts adorned the table's surface and oil stains splotched the faux wood.

Nellus grabbed a quick ration bar from a cupboard for breakfast and moved unhurriedly from his apartment. There was no need to rush as he knew he wouldn't be late. This was his routine every morning.

Every. Spirits damned. Morning.

His short walk to the public transit station was plagued by advertisements. They flashed holographic images primarily of grandeur and excitement with the occasional bleak news report interspersed between them. Those inevitably got drowned out by images of asari sipping bubbly, pink drinks while lounging in the extravagance their success afforded them.

_“Twenty thousand dead after the Reapers turned their sights on the human colony, Mindoir.”_

_“It was easy. Just apply online to CU and watch as your career unfolds before you.”_

He hated those ads the most and couldn't help an irritable flick of his mandible before he dropped his eyes to his feet as he walked. Nellus had been out of the military for almost ten years, having not quite served his required fifteen, though it wasn't entirely by choice.  After getting discharged he agreed -well, more or less- that he would serve the rest of his mandatory time with C-Sec.

Somehow, it counted.

In truth, he never had much of a plan for his life, less so after getting discharged. A part of him was quietly hoping that maybe he'd just get lucky. Maybe 'embrace eternity' with some wealthy matriarch and never have to worry about such grievances like 'bettering himself' or 'applying himself' or... paying bills again.

Boarding the public shuttle, Nellus took the only available seat between an obviously sick and likely contagious turian and an asari with a fussy baby in her arms. He had to ignore the small, blue hand that tapped his pauldron incessantly. Glancing over, he caught the mother's attention firmly on the datapad in her hand, the turian beside him did a poor job of covering his rattling cough and Nellus glared at the floor as the shuttle jerked into motion.

Thirteen minutes left until his shift.

At fifteen, he joined the military because that's what one did when they were a young turian with a short fringe and dreams bigger than the guns he had to heft with long, gangly arms. Achieving goals seemed easy at the time, but eventually, he would downgrade his expectations to simply _'just be better than my old man,'_ which would soon devolve into, _'well, my old man could've been worse,'_ to finally, _'that's genetics for you.'_

Nellus could fight like any trained turian soldier and he was a decent shot, but he had never developed any kind of passion for that lifestyle. He never really developed any kind of passion for a single thing, for that matter. Except, perhaps, traveling. That was one thing military life occasionally afforded him as it shipped him off to all the different colonies. Though, admittedly, he found it a little difficult to immerse himself in the cultures when he was expected to shoot at the locals after they revealed themselves as Separatists who had just rigged a bomb to his platoon's land rover. That tended to kill whatever hard-on he had about their culture and sent it retreating behind his plates like a garden hose on a reel.

Then, at twenty-five, his next vision test came back with disappointing results. He would need cybernetics, if not a gene mod, to correct his vision if he was to continue fieldwork. The catch: The Hierarchy was only willing to put out the creds for such a procedure for only their most exceptional soldiers– of which, his old CO not-so-pleasantly informed him, was a group Nellus wasn't a part of. That left him with his next dilemma– what the fuck was he going to do with his life now?

Despite the blood that tainted his memories, he really had developed an interest in exploring new places. There was something about seeing a one-of-a-kind sunset on a planet orbiting a red dwarf, the rays coloring the sky in rich hues of purples and reds. He longed to stand in the shadows of ancient architectural structures, erect among the last remnants of a long dead people and leaving him pondering all the possibilities of how they lived. Immersing himself in different cultures with all the unfamiliar foods and traditions was something he would love to experience again, gunfire aside this time.

If only the Veterans Fixed Income covered interstellar travel. Technically, his first five years at C-Sec qualified him to enter into the reserves and live under the V.F.I, but it only guaranteed his basic needs- food, water, and housing. No, he’d have to continue working if he wanted any extra luxuries.

That was how he, like so many turians before him, cast adrift with the question about what to do with their lives post-military, turned to C-Sec. The pay was decent enough, even if the job itself was boring at the best of times and making him want to shoot himself in the head at the worst. The latter was becoming more frequent these days with doom on everyone’s doorstep and people pouring in from invaded colonies. Nevertheless, C-Sec was willing to pay for his vision correction and he lived a comfortable existence in his small apartment in exchange for what, he quickly discovered, was absolutely no fucking time to do anything he wanted to do, Reapers notwithstanding.

Nellus supposed that there was a slight bright side to them winning: He wouldn't have to worry about withering away at his stupid desk. Because that’s where he ended up. Not bathed in the glow of a purple sunset. Not running his talons across the walls of foregone civilizations. Not warm in a bed with an exotic turian curled against him. No. He was behind a damned desk.

Still, he'd like to visit Palaven– outside of boot camp that is– at least once. If he put the hours in, saved his credits, he could go. Perhaps spend a week there, maybe meet a good-looking turian. All he had to do was work.

_'Just a few more months,'_ Nellus would tell himself. _'A few more months is all I'll need to save up and then I can leave for a while.'_ Unfortunately, a few months had a way of turning into several, becoming a year, which turned into five-

_“The newly appointed Primarch Victus is currently aboard the famed_ Normandy, _negotiating for krogan troops to combat the Reapers assaulting Palaven,”_ a talking head blurted over the sound of the shuttle as it landed at C-Sec headquarters with four minutes left. Images of the razed homeworld glowed in the holographic images above the passengers' heads.

And now Palaven was on fire. Fucking perfect.

The main entrance of C-Sec headquarters cycled open, as it did for him every morning, and he made his way past the throngs of people that routinely showed up to complain about some problem or other. Though, admittedly these days the problems that the masses complained about were getting increasingly direr. Less _'my human neighbor's dog took a shit on my doorstep'_ and more _'rations are getting cut again? But my children are starving.'_

“Hey, skull face!” some irate, human citizen shouted as he passed through the guest lobby. “Why don't you do your job and help us over here?”

Nellus ignored him. The man was talking to the wrong officer. His job was manning the desk in the docking bay and scouting for contraband on cargo vessels. Every young boy’s dream.

After he'd gone to his locker and finished rifling through it, leaving behind his effects and exchanging them for equipment he'd need for his shift, Nellus shut the metal door to find the greens eyes of his captain, Decian Chellick, lying in wait on the other side.

Though their ranks in C-Sec were vastly different, Nellus and Chellick went all the way back to boot camp. In their youths, Chellick used to be a scrawny wisp of a turian while Nellus was always taller and bulkier than the average male their age. Chellick used to get picked on mercilessly for his lackluster frame and, to Nellus' shame today, he used to be one of his tormentors.

Until one afternoon when Nellus had found himself sucked into a prank that had gone horribly wrong and was abandoned to his fate by his so-called 'friends.' It ended with gallons of gun oil soaking an officer's desk, staining the expensive wooden surface permanently, and Nellus taking the ire of said officer that had shown up to the scene with no one else to blame. Until, miraculously, Chellick -who was at the officer's side as he was given the task of cleaning his equipment- not only spoke up for him but took the fall entirely.

“Why would you do that?” Nellus had asked him when he had stopped by later to the sight of Chellick vigorously scrubbing the desk with a tiny, hilariously ill-suited brush.

“I don't know,” Chellick had grumbled, his eyes narrowing on the ill-fated wood. “It was obvious that you didn't do it. You were just standing there like a cornered pyjack, looking so stupid that I couldn't just stand there and say nothing.”

From that day forward Nellus had abandoned his old friends in favor of the company of the scrawny turian, inadvertently serving as a detractor for any more would-be tormentors from him. Chellick would not remain scrawny, however. He quickly grew into a valuable soldier and then, much later, a revered C-Sec officer. His methods weren't always clean, and he was willing to lie whenever he wanted situations swerved in his favor– as he demonstrated years ago on Nellus' behalf– but he did his job well and very quickly rose through the ranks to Captain.

There was no rivalry or conflict between their positions. Nellus had no problem recognizing that he lacked the drive or passion for the job Chellick had. He had long since accepted his fate: taking orders from behind a desk. After all, Chellick was a leader. Nellus wasn't.

“Morning, Captain,” the desk sergeant greeted him. Another common, daily practice. He always used the title in professional settings. That part of military training had never quite left him.

“Is it? Haven't noticed.” Nellus didn't take the less-than-friendly response to heart. Chellick was under a lot of stress, more than usual with the influx of refugees. C-Sec was spread thinner than ever and maintaining order on the Citadel was getting progressively harder every day. At the head of it, overseeing it all, were Chellick and Bailey.  “We have another ship coming in from Tuchanka, set to arrive at 0900.”  

“Oh boy, do we?” Nellus reclined his head, smirking at his rather unamused friend as the morning news report came to mind. “And it's not even my birthday.”

Turian-krogan relations were piss-poor before at best, but if that morning news report was any indication, Nellus suspected that it was about to get worse. No doubt the krogan were likely to take issue with the Chief Primarch – _shockingly–_ not trusting them to deal with an issue like a bomb themselves. Since the Hierarchy had a thing about keeping Primarch Victus out of harm's way _– ‘Since they did such a great job with Fedorian'–_  the krogan of Tuchanka were probably desperate to punch someone else.

Nellus couldn't say that he was thrilled with the idea of telling an angry, three-hundred-kilo behemoth: _'I'm sorry, sir, but you can't bring your missile launcher onto the Citadel. I'll need to confiscate it until you ship out.'_

“I was feeling generous.” Chellick offered a weary, sympathetic smile. “Have fun with that.” And he left him to it.

Later, when Nellus settled himself at his desk, he stared out over the skyline of the Citadel. It was a nice view, he could acknowledge– or at least it was until it was obscured by the sight of the sickly and downtrodden. Refugees were filling up the docks faster than he could keep up and he was often the first face they saw when they got off the ship. Some would just walk by with haunted eyes fixed on the floor, while others came straight to him for answers he didn't have.

It wasn't that he didn't like people _–_ Scratch that. He didn't– but it had more to do with the fact that he just didn't know what to say to them. _'Sorry your home and everyone you know is gone. Here, have a shitty blanket and a questionably-dated ration bar.'_

There was a reason Chellick excelled at leadership where he didn't. Talking to people, let alone _inspiring_ them, was impossible. Nellus couldn't lead a team through a practice drill, let alone a squad under fire. It took a certain voice, a certain presence– _‘Confidence,'_ a small voice chided– that he sorely lacked. Simple as that. He was well aware of his shortcomings and so were his superiors. Thankfully, that meant he never had to actually take responsibility for any subordinates.

It was far easier to put into practice his patent-pending, tried and true method of avoiding conflict: look away.

_“Heads up, Tragen,”_ an asari's voice spoke into his earpiece. Myarphia -'Mya'- T'rezea was assigned as his partner for the day, as was usual when Tuchanka ships were expected to fly in. Having the ability to reduce an immense amount of weight into a feather-light object to be tossed about was invaluable when dealing with krogan. _“The cargo ship from Tuchanka is inbound.”_  

“Copy that.” Nellus glanced up at the vista ahead of him just in time to spot the large, clunky ship descending from the artificial sky. So did everyone else, quickly filling his view with craning heads, desperate for some visual identification of the ship, unaware that the only people aboard were cargo workers– not family members. With a heavy sigh, he stood from his seat and made his way through the crowd to the landing platform.

Normally, the trip down was a five-minute walk. Today it took him about ten to arrive as he was stopped several times by disgruntled residents and refugees alike.

“Don't tell me you're allowing more people in! Do you think space on this station is limitless?”

“Please, I'm still waiting for my wife. Do you have a roster for those aboard this ship?”

When he finally arrived, Mya was already dealing with the krogan freighter captain. By the way she was gesturing with her datapad, the conversation wasn't going well.

“I don't care if you were here last week, by Citadel law, you-” she pointed with her datapad. “-Are required to comply with a contraband check after every landing.”

The krogan, whom Nellus knew from past pleasant experiences as Pit, glared venomously at the asari. “And I'm telling you we ain't got nothing worth hiding so you and your other C-Sec lackeys can go sniff around elsewhere.”

“Problem, Pit?” Nellus inquired, tuning his voice into one of faux-concern. He eyed the burly krogan with open-eyed surprise, knowing exactly how much that would get under Pit’s rusty, scarred plates. “Why, it’s not at all like you to raise a fuss over anything you’ve done before. Hundreds of times.” Widened eyes narrowed, fixing the krogan with a scrutinizing stare. “'Course, by your age, it’s probably more like thousands.”

“Yeah, there's a problem.” Pit snarled, ignoring the turian for the time being in favor of the smaller asari. He swiveled his large head to shoot a paint-thinning glare at Mya. “Been coming here for years, Tragen–”

“I’ll say.” Sometimes Nellus couldn’t help himself. Watching the anger roll in on someone’s face and posture was truly one of life’s few joys.

The krogan’s lips peeled back, flashing a row of vicious-looking teeth. “And this is the greeting I get?!”

Mya snorted. “He's refusing to comply with the cargo search.”

Nellus canted his head at Pit. “We could make it a cavity search if you prefer.”

“Just try it, _turian_ ,” Pit growled.

With an exasperated sigh, as if the entirety of his day was ruined, Nellus nodded gravely at his asari partner. One five-fingered clenched fist later, a biotic field flared to life around a very surprised krogan. All Nellus had to do after that was fish a pair of universal precaution gloves from a compartment in his armor, stretch them over his hand with a loud snap, making sure to keep his long talon-tipped, turian-sized index finger on full display, before the krogan relented. Rather eagerly, at that.

“Fine, fine! Fucking search the ship, just let me go!” The blue field fell away and Pit dropped to his knees. Nellus readied himself for the chance of a potential retaliating charge, but it never came. True to his word, the krogan raised his omni-tool and the cargo hatch began to lower with a protesting groan a few seconds later.

“Have a pleasant morning, Pit,” Nellus bid him sweetly before continuing on to his goal.

“That guy's a fucking asshole,” Mya grumbled, annoyed, once they were out of earshot from said asshole.

Nellus flared an amused mandible down at his partner. “Pit? Nah, he’s harmless. Just needs a little sweet-talking, that's all. And don't we all from time to time?”

“A biotic punch to the face is what he needs.” Nellus was inclined to agree but ignored her as they ascended the durasteel ramp. At only eighty-five, Mya was fairly new to C-Sec and still quite green when it came to handling difficult people like Pit. The claws of working with the public had yet to sink into her to tear up her compassion for others just yet. She'd learn.

Once at the top of the ramp, they entered a large hold, walled floor-to-ceiling with gray steel which was splotched in places by rust from questionable, spilled products of the past. Like clockwork, the turian and asari officers raised their omni-tools and began the arduous task of scanning each and every crate.

“Clean,” he routinely stated after scanning the first.

“Clean,” he heard his partner quietly declare after scanning her own.

“Clean,” he informed again after the second.

“Clean,” he heard in return.

The turian officer paused at the third crate as his omni-tool blipped over an odd, spherical image. Scanning the cargo again, he realized it wasn't coming up as any sort of explosive or radioactive device, but he couldn't say he had come across something like this before, especially not from the wastes of Tuchanka. Nellus glanced over at his partner, intent to call her over-

_Click-clock._

Every muscle in his body locked up, suddenly on high alert.

“Y’hear that?” Nellus asked briskly, not bothering to withhold the colonial drawl that slipped into his speech as he turned to his partner.

“Hear what?”

_Click-clock._

Nellus couldn't stop the nervous quiver in his mandibles when he heard the sound again. “That! Listen.”

_Click-clock._

“Wait.” Mya's eyes widened. “I heard it that time.”

Nellus didn't bother to reply, too intent on audibly locating the direction of the sound. The hold was filled with crates, it could be coming from anywhere.

_Click-clock._

The sound reverberated off the lining of his cowl, muddled slightly by his armor, but he felt it all the same. Nellus turned toward the noise. There. Toward the very back on his partner's side of the ship.

“It sounds like it's coming from over there!” He exclaimed, already in motion, drawing his sidearm as he moved.

Mya followed his lead, drawing her own pistol while scanning one side of the hold as he scanned the other. It wasn't until he neared the back wall that he was assaulted with a foul stench. A cocktail of sewage and decay.

Pit would definitely have some explaining to do.

“ _Spirits,”_ he coughed, fighting the urge to plant a protective hand over his nasal plates. “What _stinks_? Did something die in here?”

Then he heard a sharp gasp from his partner right before she urgently beckoned him over.

“ _Nellus!_ ” Mya hollered. “ _Goddess, Nellus, get over here!”_

He’d started sprinting before she'd even finished her sentence, leaping over a few steel receptacles in his way. By the time he reached her, Mya was already barking out orders into her omni-tool like a seasoned pro. Nellus would have been proud of the leadership she was displaying if not for the grizzly sight his eyes fell on.

A young turian, male, likely in his early twenties, lay sprawled naked on the floor in a webbing of sheets and bubble wrap. Half his face was obscured under loose bandages, now stained a deep blue from what was undoubtedly a traumatic injury underneath. Nearby was a waste bucket, which explained the sewage smell, and about a dozen empty water bottles scattered around him. The stench of decay was stronger than ever, the main source– though Nellus suspected the odor had a few origins– was the turian's right, mangled leg. Bandages had been applied to it, as well as what looked like a makeshift splint for support. But the wraps had long since started leaking and the weight of the soaked fabric caused the splint– _'Is that rebar?'–_ used to support the leg to slip out from the bottom at his toes, streaking the steel floor in a repulsive mixture of cobalt blood and oily puss.

In the turian's hand lay the source for the clicking– a piece of plastic Nellus had seen people use to train varren. And while the turian's only visible eye was glazed over– a sign he had gone into shock– his thumb clicked away at the piece of plastic. If anything, the sound was more incessant than ever. With a shiver, Nellus recognized it for what it was– a cry for help from a young man stubbornly clinging to life.

“Fuck,” Nellus cursed, unable to help himself as he moved towards the younger turian's face and kneeled beside him. Now that he was in closer proximity, he could hear the turian's subharmonics warbling in distress. It was too low for Mya to hear, but it was loud enough to rip his heart in two. Pushing past the anguishing sound, and with his omni-tool still out, he donned his gloves and began scanning the turian's life signs.

It didn't look good.

“Infection has set in,” he reported to anyone listening. “Victim is suffering severe sepsis. Breathing is shallow.” Nellus frowned at the numbers that indicated a failing heart on his omni-tool. The norm, for a turian, was eighty-five to a hundred beats per minute. “Heart rate is at sixty-six BPM. Body temperature is plummeting- currently thirty-three degrees centigrade.”

It should have been at forty.  

The young turian was in Death's talons, and still his thumb worked the plastic in his hand like a lifeline. Nellus began to suspect that's exactly what it was and he realized he didn't want him to stop clicking. To do so would mean he had stopped fighting and allowed the jaws of the beast to pull him under.

“You're gonna be alright, buddy,” he soothed, inadvertently allowing his Taetrus intonation to slip through once again. He only received more clicking in reply.  

When the paramedics arrived, they immediately attached an IV to the stowaway’s arm. When they wanted to take the clicker, Nellus found himself tempted to refuse. But protocol was protocol.

“C'mon, it's time to hand that over. It's gonna be okay.” Gingerly, he extracted the clicker from the death grip it was trapped in only to have his own hand seized and used in the same manner. Nellus doubted that the stowaway could even hear the clicks anymore, even when he was making them. He wasn't even aware he had his hand, but if it was a lifeline he needed, Nellus was happy to provide it.

Carefully, and with Nellus’ hand still seized in an iron grasp, the young turian was lifted off the floor and placed on a stretcher. Nellus then had to sprint beside it as the paramedics hurried the patient off the ship to the ambulance that waited outside. It was only as they began to load the stretcher inside that he extricated his hand. His eyes settled on the grip he'd just freed himself from and watched as the turian's thumb continued to work over nothing at all as if the clicker was still in his grasp.

Once he was secured on board, the ambulance took flight, leaving Nellus behind to watch it go from the tarmac. Behind him, he could hear Mya's tactful method of interrogation for any information Pit could possibly provide on the strange turian.

“Spill it, asshole!”

“I don't know nothing about no turian!”

“I fucking know you're lying!”

Ignoring them like the background noise of a large crowd, Nellus glanced down to the piece of plastic still clenched in his talons.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta readers:  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 

 

“I'm sorry, sir,” a human clerk told him without her eyes leaving the screen between them. “Without a next-of-kin... or a _warrant-”_ That cursed word was wielded like a sword and her brown eyes darted from the monitor to give him a sharp look as she swung the proverbial blade at him. “-I cannot release any patient information.”

Nellus just managed to rein in a sigh. She was right, of course, he knew that but that didn't mean she couldn't help him if she really wanted to. But this approach wasn't getting him anywhere. “Look, I'm not here to question him or anything. I don't even need to see him or know his name. I just want to know if he's alive.”

Something in his voice made her thaw a bit. Her lips pursed with indecision before her fingers moved back to her keyboard interface. “Name, please?”

“Nellus Tragen, badge number 9-8-”

Her voice cut in, dripping with icy impatience. The look that came with it gave him the unaccountable desire to check his police cruiser for lines scratched along the chrome sides. “The _patient_ 's name, _sir_."

Later, Nellus would look back on this and revel in a sense of accomplishment that the spike of rage he felt only managed to manifest itself in two blinks. Drawing in a breath, he tried again, “I don't know. He came in on a cargo ship this morning, beat to hell. Probably missing a leg as well as half his face.”

The human just stared at him, one wry eyebrow going up the only answer he needed. With evacuees and soldiers alike pouring out of colony worlds ravaged by the Reapers, a description like that was considered remarkably vague. He may as well have said 'a turian with gray plates and talons,' for all the good it did him.

He had to wonder if she took any joy in informing him, “You'll need to be more specific than that.”

Nellus worked to restrain a huff of bitter laughter, but only just. "Sorry, that's all I got. Look, he came off a krogan ship from Dock D24 around 0900. Could you--"

No, evidently she couldn't. "Sir, we have dozens of wounded people being processed at any given second, and unless you have more identifying information, I'm sorry, but _I_ can't help _you_."

Well if that wasn't a big fucking waste of time. Nellus left Huerta Memorial, ignoring the wails of mourning family members and the cries of stricken patients as their desperation was silenced by the front entrance cycling shut behind him. In truth, he was glad to leave, as he never did like hospitals. Spirits, he was probably dodging a bullet by not knowing if that kid had survived. He probably hadn't and was likely lying under a sheet on some dirty, blood-smeared floor.

Speaking of depressing places better left avoided, why was he driving back to work on his off-hours?

Nellus entered through the backdoor, managing to slip past the civilians that loitered in the facility's main lobby. He passed the locker room, the cafeteria, and Chellick's office with a single goal in mind: The lab.

To get to it, Nellus had to punch in his code for the evidence room to which the lab was attached, its entrance inside, past rows and rows of filing cabinets and bagged odds and ends. Everything was in its own state of organized chaos. There was likely a method to the madness, Nellus was sure, but from his perspective the room resembled a case of someone with a bad hoarding habit.

He paused at the lab's entrance to punch in his code again, watching as the durasteel door cycled upward. When it was high enough, he ducked underneath, his presence forcing the door to hold its opened state. Inside he found his target, hunched over a microscope with an omni-tool aglow on his right wrist. Doctor Damien Smith was head tech of C-Sec's evidence lab. He was a wiry human in his late thirties with light brown skin and a hairless head that was often striped with the reflections of the overhead lights.

“Workaholic, I'm telling you, Tragen,” the human commented without removing his eye from the scope that was pressed against his socket.

“I didn't think the title applied if I wasn't seated upon my throne,” Nellus quipped, thinking of the indentation his ass was beginning to leave on that chair.

“You're here about the clicker.” Smith was never one to dance around a subject. It was one of his better qualities, really.

“How'd you guess?”

The human shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

There was a pause in which Nellus was beginning to rethink the valuable trait he had assigned to the lab tech. With an edge of impatience, he pressed. “Have you had time to-”

“Nothing.”

Nellus blinked. “Nothing?”

“Well,” Smith finally removed his eye from the scope and turned to regard his guest. With a small jerk of his head, Nellus complied to follow him into the lab and watched as the human began to rifle through a menagerie of small drawers set in a far wall, numbered in an order that was way above Nellus' pay grade to understand. After a few moments, he withdrew a white plastic bag and turned to hand it to his colleague. Inside was the clicker. “I shouldn't say 'nothing.' There's plenty of prints all over it, mostly krogan. Too many for me to pull anything worthwhile.”

_'Typical_.'

“Were you able to detect anything from the blood on the floor?” Nellus inquired, allowing some of his irritation to seep into his tone. He held the sealed bag aloft as if he was able to find prints with his naked eyes alone. Resigned to the fact that, no, he couldn’t, he laid the clicker on the table and turned his attention back to the human. He didn't need to see the lab tech shake his head to know the answer. That floor was filthy- any evidence was likely contaminated.

“Actually, I was.” For a moment, Nellus dared to allow himself to brighten.

“A plethora of traces of krogan blood as well as saliva, mucus, and semen- on the floor, that is.” He quickly added. “Also varren, which... is disturbing.”

“Tell me, Damien.” Nellus scowled at the rather glib-looking lab tech. “Were you able to peel back the layers of depravity to find anything useful about the turian?”

“I hope you packed your lube, Tragen because you're not going to like the way this news takes you. Yes, I was able to pull DNA from the blood sample. Surprise, surprise, he's a high-ranking soldier under the Hierarchy.”

Nellus felt the lines of his body deflate, not needing any further explanation than that. Crossing his arms, he reclined against an aluminum table, careful not to disturb the gadgets that lay scattered across the surface. The next single word he uttered was with a tone both contempt and resigned, subvocals buzzing his disappointment. “Classified.”

Smith crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Highly. I got a big blue screen flashing at me when I tried to run the DNA.”

Nellus made a small sound of affirmation, expecting as much. “That would be the Hierarchy slapping you across the face with their equivalent of a human middle finger.”

“Yep. That was my interpretation as well. Guess the pooch got screwed on that one, am I right?” The doctor-- if that's what he could be called-- flashed a toothy grin, his eyes alight with expectation. Nellus only stared, watching as the smile slowly slid from the human's face. “Get it, 'cause the varren...? You're obviously not picking up what I'm putting down.”

“No,” Nellus told him, not bothering to hide the unamused tenor from his voice. “I'm not touching whatever it was you just put down.”

Smith briefly frowned at Nellus' lack of reciprocation before offering a careless shrug. “Hey, at least it narrows the pool of potential identities down to... oh-” He paused to make an annoying show of great thought. “-two... maybe three million officers?”

“Funny.”

“Maybe send an email to the Primarch of Palaven?” Nellus had already turned to leave, unable to stop his mandibles from fluttering in his irritation. He was halfway out the door when he heard Smith call, _“I'm sure he'd be willing to drop everything to help!”_

_'Fucking Smith.'_ As useful as the doctor could be, he was also capable of being a huge pain in the ass at times. Nellus was no closer to finding out who the turian was than when he first strolled into the building. If anything, he was a little worse for wear now that Smith had burned some extremely distasteful mental imagery into his brain. He couldn't necessarily blame him for the Hierarchy's strict jurisdiction over their soldier's identities, but he could certainly hold him responsible for his newest mental scar.

Knowing that the stowaway turian was an active duty soldier did little to assist in obtaining the answers he sought. If answers were to be gained, it was up to the hospital now and they made their disinterest in sharing that information perfectly clear. Hopefully they would be more forthcoming with the actual patient. Though, somehow Nellus doubted that they would even care with how slammed the staff currently was. Soldier or not, he was just one more ill-fated convalescent sucking up precious resources. One more body taking up space.

If Nellus was a betting man, he'd wager that the kid was likely from the platoon of that failed Hierarchy assignment. Unfortunately, that grain of information only got so far when he couldn't even be sure what platoon was on Tuchanka. After the botched mission, he must have somehow sneaked past the krogan to stow away on the only ship leaving for the Citadel, likely his only chance for survival. Lucky for that turian, Pit had not agreed to that cavity search, or else he might have been dead by the time anyone stumbled across him.

Nellus was walking through the adjacent evidence room when a thought occurred to him. Turning back around, he returned to the lab. The metal door cycled up, revealing Smith smirking - _annoyingly-_ at his monitor.

“One more question.” Nellus leaned against the frame of the opened door, again preventing it from closing.

“Shoot,” Smith acknowledged without looking up.

“I don't suppose they brought in anything unusual from the ship?”

“Not that I know of. No. Why?”

“When T'rezea and I were searching the ship- before we found the turian, my scanner picked up a weird device in one of the crates.”

Smith regarded him briefly. “Did you report it in?”

At that, Nellus' mandibles pinched his jaw. “No. I... guess I got a bit sidetracked when I found that stowaway. It didn't register as a threat on my scanner, it was just... unusual.” He trailed off, looking away from the lab tech to watch a moth bounce off one of the ceiling lights. “Maybe I'll talk to the Captain. He'll be able to get me inside the ship again.”

Smith gave a disinterested shrug. “Wouldn't do you any good. The ship's gone.”

The truth of the statement landed in Nellus' stomach like a swallowed ice cube and he closed his eyes against the cold. Of course the ship was gone. They had nothing solid enough to hold Pit accountable for the injured stowaway, even if Nellus did think him responsible. Pit was many things, but subtle was not one of them. The krogan was undoubtedly just as surprised to learn about the turian as they all were.

Of course, with no reason to detain him, Pit would have taken his ship to his next destination. Time was credits. The Citadel was merely stop one.

With his eye still pressed to his ocular lens, Smith went on. “I'm sure a quaint krogan knick-knack is the least of Bailey and Chellick's concerns right now, don't you think? If there was anything dangerous about it, your scanner would have picked it up.”

“Yeah.” Nellus turned to leave again, not feeling entirely confident when he said: “You're probably right.”

 

* * *

 

For reasons even him himself couldn't explain, he tried the hospital one more time the very next day after talking with his favorite lab tech. Unfortunately, he was met with more of the same.

The clerk -thankfully, a different one this time- _hm'd_ and _haw'd_ for about five minutes and mentioned something about asking a superior. She even had the grace of making a show of doing so- disappearing behind a door for about thirty seconds, likely counting down the time on her omni-tool, before returning to her post with the conclusion of: 'I'm sorry, sir. We can't help you.'

Nellus cast a long look over the clerk's head toward the door that they both knew concealed no manager to help him before leaving Huerta behind for good. Probably for the best, he reasoned. For all the effort the station was going through to pretend thousands weren't dying by the hour, he was likely better off living that way for as long as he could.

What good would it do him to keep worrying about it?

That was the thought that went through his head when something unusual caught his attention one day while he sat upon his 'throne.' Up until that point, Nellus had returned to life as he knew it: Wake up, jerk off, eat, go to work, eat, go to sleep. Throw in a scathing remark, by the locals, about how little he was helping here and there and it was business as usual. That was why, when something different happened, his eyes zeroed in on it immediately.

It was odd to him, and he couldn't quite put his talon on why it was, but his eyes fell upon a young turian boy playing with two other turian children. Their features were similar -light plates, tawny hide, and blue eyes. Except for the girl. The girls' were hazel, but they were likely siblings. The three of them were playing with Silver Spectre action figures in their tiny, taloned hands.

Nellus watched them for a moment, distracted by the strangeness of the scene in front of him and it was quite some time before he realized what it was that had caught his attention. _They looked happy_. Amidst the fog of despair that clung to the docking bay like a cloud covering a sea bluff, three children sat carefree. Beside one of them-- the youngest-- was a red thermos that he would happily sip from time to time.

Nellus didn't notice it then, but as the days went on he began to see a shift in the turian refugees that milled about around him. It was subtle at first. A smile here, a wave there-- he was admittedly caught off guard the first time he saw one of these directed at him-- but within three weeks of seeing those children the first time, different energy rippled through that cloud of despair. It still lingered, of course, stubbornly clinging to all inhabitants unfortunate enough to have to walk through it-- or sit in it, as his case was-- but there was a light shining through now. And the refugees were looking towards it, a single name buzzing in the air.

_Felix_.

Nellus ignored it at first, only going so far as checking the registry for a turian of that name. He existed, but nothing else was noted about him. No past. No occupation. No family. Not even a clan name was entered into the log. The best they could do was approximate his birthplace as somewhere on Palaven, given his-- apparently damaged, though still distinguishable-- facial tattoos. Regardless, it had nothing to do with Nellus and he certainly wasn't interested in shaking his own life up more than the Reapers eventually would. That was until one day when the three children returned. Once again, a red thermos sat within reach of the youngest child. They were easy enough to brush off until the young boy took a final sip from his thermos and grimaced, disappointed at the lack of... whatever it was.

The fledgling frowned at the red plastic in his talons, garnering the attention of his older sister and–

_'Why the hell am I watching this?'_ Nellus tore his gaze away to determinedly pin it to his monitor. With reports to file and ship data to input, he was way too busy to allow himself to be distracted.

“What's wrong, Apter?” he heard the turian girl ask from behind his monitor.

“S’all gone!” the young boy’s subvocals warbled dispiritedly.

“Well don't keen about it!” The other boy-- his brother?-- chastised. “Felix'll make more.”

Nellus looked up at the name, his curiosity piqued. It was probably some whack-job doomsayer, declaring himself a profit to give people hope. If that was the case, preaching religious doctrine was illegal in this section of the wards. Though, it was usually the hanar that needed to be reminded. Harmless or not, it probably warranted an investigation, which technically wasn’t his jurisdiction. He could call someone or…

Against his better judgment, Nellus stood from his chair and walked toward the three children. He never liked kids and didn't have much experience interacting with them. Being an only child, he wasn’t granted any favors in that regard. Any skill he might’ve picked up from a younger sibling would have given him something to draw from, at least. And his parents didn't exactly set a great example either.

Nellus suddenly found himself wishing he had paid more attention during the mandatory sensitivity training that C-Sec loved to thrust upon its officers. Maybe if he had, the three fledglings wouldn't be looking up at him with fear in their eyes at his approach. Was he moving too fast or was he just really that intimidating? He silently hoped that it was merely the sight of his black and blue armor that struck an alarm in their warbling subharmonics and not his face.

“Where’d you get that thermos, boy?” Nellus couldn't be sure who winced harder: the kids or him.

The girl, clearly the leader of their little group, immediately placed herself between him and her younger brothers. Hazel eyes fixed on the incoming threat, heavy with reproach and her little keel jutted out as she mustered her bravery, puffing up her chest. “He didn't steal it, Officer. Promise.”

There was an underlying threat to the young girl’s subvocals that made Nellus instantly come to a halt. Not out of fear of the girl herself, but of disinterest to exacerbating the situation by drawing attention to themselves. For now, throngs of people-- mostly turians-- walked by with only the occasional curious glance cast their way. The girl’s subharmonics were drowned out in the din of the crowd around them. That could quickly change if Nellus didn’t play his cards right.

And wouldn’t that be the last thing Chellick needed across his desk? C-Sec Desk Sergeant Harasses Small Children! More at 1800!

“Hey, it's all right,” he assured the trio's guardian while he held his hands up in a placating gesture. Combing his mind for anything that might help de-escalate the situation, a small, droning voice that was accompanied by the sound of an extremely out-of-date ditty from an old training vid bored into his brain from the depths of a distant memory. _'When dealing with children, put them at ease by kneeling down to their level.'_ He did so. “I believe you.” Nellus glanced over the girl to the youngest fledgling, clutching the red thermos to his chest as if afraid it'd be taken from him. “I'm just hungry and looking for the best place to get some lunch. You look like you're enjoying the soup you had in there. Know where I could get some, too?”

Timidly, the boy-- Apter-- peered around his brother to meet the officer’s eyes. After exchanging a quick look with both his siblings, seeking their approval, he shyly admitted: “My friend cooked it. Mama says my stomach needs to stay full for my medicine. The soup's good.”

Nellus gave an encouraging thrum with his subvocals. “That’s very nice of him. Can you tell me your friend's name? I'd love to meet him.”

Apter's mandibles fluttered into a small, hopeful grin. “Felix. He makes food for everyone. I know he'd cook for you too, if you ask him nice.”

“I'll do that,” Nellus nodded, fluttering his mandible into what he hoped was a mollifying smile. “Do you know where I can find him?”

 

* * *

 

The turian, Felix, had apparently secured a home for himself with the children and their parents- Pliia and Kaius Posnion. After the middle child pointed out the shabby prefab-- unit 48-- that the family had been forced to call home these days, Nellus thanked them and left to investigate. He felt their eyes on his back as he walked away.

Prefabs were durasteel structures that offered little in the way of privacy. They had no doors, essentially being nothing more than a metal rectangle for a refugee to lay their head. Each one was fitted with a single bed, a stove to cook with, and a small table to eat at. Not exactly opulence, but they were running out of them fast. More and more weren’t even lucky enough to be afforded that small luxury. The only bright side of being from a colony that got hit early on in the war was that you had the first choice of prefabs. The Posnions were lucky, though Nellus doubted they saw it that way. Had he been in their place, he probably wouldn’t either.

As he advanced on the dwelling, the energy around him seemed to grow, as if approaching a lit candle in a dark abyss. At the edges- pure black, but as he neared the center, he saw a proverbial glow. People were smiling. They were weary grins topped by pairs of haunted eyes, but they were smiling all the same as they ate from their trays. Nellus stopped to examine one evacuee’s meal, trying not to appear too creepy as he did so.

For being the augmented ration that he knew it to be, the food looked edible. Good, even. At the very least, it looked better than those microwaved singles meals he tended to eat in the evenings when he was too tired-- or too cheap-- to go out looking for takeout. A long intake of breath brought back the smells of the local bazaars he used to enjoy visiting back home on Taetrus. Dusty paths lined with merchants peddling their wares and local cooks, known only to the small town, who grilled meat from questionably clean cookware, but that never bothered him. The re-used grease probably added to the flavor. Not that it mattered much when he was just a kid and the nice lady simply handed him a free piece of vat-grown meat because he was alone and looked hungry.

Nellus walked further into the encampment and was surprised to find that each and every one of the turians who were there appeared to be well-fed. He knew what the rations situation was like-- hell he’d just had to refuse some asari refugees extra food from his post earlier in the day. Just like the prefabs, there simply wasn’t enough to go around.

It took a handful of minutes, but finally he set eyes on the center of attention-- and it wasn’t at all what he expected. Parked in a wheelchair before a lowered stove, concentrating on whatever it was that he had sizzling in the skillet in front of him, was the stowaway that he and Mya found in that shipping container all those weeks ago. Someone-- likely the fledglings’ father-- had lent him clothes to wear, as they didn’t quite fit him all that well to be his own. The shirt clung too tightly around his chest and too loosely around his waist. The pant leg that clad his left one hung a little short at his ankle while the other-- unsurprisingly, given how bad his infection had been-- was tied off in a knot where his other shin should have begun.

All things considered, he looked a hell of a lot better than he did when Nellus last saw him. He was cleaned up and, though his face was still heavily bandaged, this mystery turian was one and the same with the one he had tried to help, right down to the half-concealed white sweeps of the Palaven tattoos, painted stark on a field of light bronze plates. Somehow, he’d survived.

At that moment, Nellus wished he had managed to get the clicker back from Smith. If only for something to connect the stowaway to that day on the ship. How did he get there in the first place?

Nellus was painfully aware of how strange he must have looked, standing in a crowd with his gaze fixated on a single turian, but it was hard to look away. Despite his missing leg, his fucked-up face, and the physical discomfort he had to be experiencing, he didn’t look at all deterred by his situation. With only one mandible, his smile was lopsided but no less genuine as he easily directed it at all who approached him.

In the span of about ten minutes-- in which Nellus began to make an effort to look inconspicuous-- several turians walked over with empty trays, only to leave again with full ones. But that wasn’t what he noticed first. The first thing he noted was that each person looked slightly more hopeful than they did when they first walked in.

Turians were a species that took pride in their morale, but as more and more evacuees poured in by the day, that was rapidly becoming as short in supply as the prefabs and the food. Yet, this young, crippled turian’s contribution of transforming shitty, stale rations into something decent had established himself as the candle that lit the heart of the encampment.

It was ridiculous. Yet, at the same time, Nellus felt some inane desire to help too.

That urge only grew when he returned to his post for the remainder of his shift. Shackled to his desk, he felt utterly useless-- hardly what most would call an actual cop. He wasn’t serving justice or protecting anyone. He was little more than a very replaceable bookkeeper. When people looked at him, they saw a washed-up soldier, squandering the best years of his life.

Nellus glanced up from his desk back to the encampment, not knowing when his gaze had lowered in the first place. What business did he have going over there again? As quickly as it appeared, his motivation faded. He tore his eyes from the world of which he had no part of and got back to work.

However, when he returned to his apartment and crawled into his bed, regret lanced through his gut. Jerking himself off in the shower the next morning did help to ebb the disappointment, but by the time he made it back to work, the first scornful look he received twisted his innards harder than it ever had. Before long, he found his gaze returning to the camp.

There was a stash of credits currently sitting in his account for when he finally managed to escape this hell-hole of a station. Though, the presence of the Reapers had set those plans to flame in much the way they were doing to the rest of the galaxy. He was doing nothing with his savings and, if the casualty reports the news was broadcasting every day were to be believed, he likely never would.

Uncertainty wormed in through the familiar tracks that it had dug through his brain years ago. It was in search of any morsel of willpower or motivation to feast on. It had been the culprit of countless 'maybe next years' and self-deprecating comments. It was easy to feed, as an offering to a far more powerful being for the exchange of a fragile peace of mind.

Glancing down at his terminal revealed that twenty minutes had flown by since he had sat down for the day. Twenty minutes of stagnation, of waiting for the end and doing fuck all. Steeling himself, he forced away the anxiety that clawed at his mind and allowed himself to indulge in the thoughts of just what he could do to make a change. Anything that was even _minutely_ worthwhile.

Finally, by the end of his shift, he had decided on a course of action. It was going to cost him a few credits, well… more like a shit-ton of credits but that didn’t matter. Not when he, at long last, felt like he could do something after wasting so many years with nothing to show for it.

 

* * *

 

This was both stupid and insane. Here he was, spending what little free time he had looking up facts about fucking salts. And to what end? What would this accomplish?

It all started because he wanted to do something extra to help, but what if it wasn’t taken that way? After all, he was a well-off Citadel resident with an actual home and credits to his name, showing up among the weak and downtrodden with a bag full of expensive spices that they could no longer hope to afford. Spirits, many probably couldn’t even before the Reaper War. What if it was interpreted as an insult- that he was being ostentatious?

Nellus’ mandibles clamped fretfully against his jaw. On one hand, the temptation to forget the whole thing, turn the light off, crawl under the blankets and hide away until the Reapers came for him was stronger than ever. Other than getting labeled a coward, there was no risk in that option. He had been called worse things. It was just one more offering to the beast that plagued his mind in exchange for a few hours of peace until the next oblation was demanded.

On the other hand, what did he have to lose? It wasn’t like he was popular among the refugees as it was. Though, it had been nice to see a few quirked mandibles directed his way, especially from the more familiar faces that had been living on the docking bay the longest. It would be a shame to see that end, but it wasn’t as though he’d never experienced that before-- encouraging grins turned to dissatisfied frowns because he wasn’t good enough.

He was certainly no stranger to that and he lived, right?

‘ _Fuck it.’_ His dark plates and red tattoos were awash in the orange glow of his reopened omni-tool.

Now, standing in front of his locker, Nellus dredged up from his small reserves of courage before he left the C-Sec station without a word to anyone. It was a short elevator ride back to docking bay D-24, where he would pass his desk without a care. The night cycle was beginning as an artificial twilight bathed the walkways in an orange glow. It would only last eighteen more minutes before dimming even further. Thankfully, unlike the Presidium that sported blue, sunny skies at all times, the wards -including the docking bays- operated on a day and night cycle.

Before the Reapers, D-24 was bustling with freighters and passenger ships at all hours, so neon lights were kept on constantly. Yet, now that the docking bays were ‘home’ to thousands of displaced people, some changes needed to be made. Most organic life requires some kind of day and night cycle to maintain a sleep schedule, among other necessities. Obviously, it wouldn’t work out so well to pack thousands of irate, sleep-deprived evacuees together in a small space and then bake them under fluorescent lights and expect everyone to play nice. So, once the twilight rotation ended, the lights would turn off. It was a new change that Nellus found he appreciated.

As the officer neared the encampment, he spotted an increasing number of turian evacuees milling about, chatting with one another as if they were back at home, talking to a neighbor in the next unit over. A certain calm had befallen the encampment and Nellus was tempted to pause and bask in it, but with his goal in sight, he refrained.

Seated in his wheelchair, the turian he sought was, once again, parked at his station in front of the stove. Nellus hesitated now, watching him stir something in the pot in front of him, only then allowing himself to take in the aroma. Sure, it had to waft through a sea of sweaty bodies, grimy, unwashed plates, and sickness, but somehow none of that mattered. It was strange how at peace he felt until he resolved himself to advance onto Unit 48.

At his approach, Nellus quickly realized that he needed to make some noise to signal his arrival. He was standing on the turian’s blind side and if the blood he remembered from those bandages was any indication, his hearing was likely shot on his right side as well.

It wasn’t too late to turn around and walk away, the beast in his mind growled. Taking a breath to bolster himself, determinedly ignoring it as it felt the need to remind him: _‘You’re probably going to fuck this up in spectacular fashion and end up as the pariah of the docking bay,'_ he thrummed a greeting with his subvocals.

Felix turned his chin to his shoulder so he could peer up at him with his good eye-- the left one. Nellus had been a little too busy taking note of the injured turian’s failing life signs to notice the color when they first technically met.  An ocean-green eye flicked first to the black and blue armor-- which Nellus expected-- before it traveled up to meet his gaze with no sign of recognition.

“Sorry, Officer,” he said, his remaining mandible flaring outwards in concern as his subharmonics buzzed an apology. “I didn’t see you. Do you need something?”

Nellus lifted the bag that he had been holding limply at his side. “Couldn’t help noticing the change in morale around here. Thought these would help.”

The green eye left his face to fall on the offered satchel. Reaching down to the side of his chair, Felix removed the brake so he could turn to fully face the officer. When he accepted the bag and opened it to see the contents inside, a surprised chirp escaped him before his hand dove in to extract one of the spices.

“This is…” His lone eye flickered from the bottle of ground _carvi_ back to Nellus. “Very generous… and expensive. Are you sure?”

Nellus waved him off. “I heard people were donating food. Consider it a contribution from C-Sec.”

Felix reached back into the bag to replace the ground _carvi_ with a bottle that read-

_'Huh.'_ Nellus squinted at the label. _'Scho-... schoeno-... schoenopr- eh fuck it.’_

“Schoenoprasum!” Felix exclaimed, the word fluidly rolling off his tongue without even the slightest hitch. He gaped at the bottle as if it was pure eezo, thankfully not catching Nellus school the glare from his face, annoyed at apparently how easy Felix found the damn word to read. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Sounds like you just said a mouthful.”

Felix huffed a laugh, only to subsequently wince at the pain it caused his damaged face. After a beat, in which Nellus was sure Felix was waiting for the sting in his jaw to subside, he went on: “Really, though. This is...” He gestured with the bottle of _only-he-cares-what-it’s-called._ “Thank you. I’m only sorry that I don’t have anything to give in return.”

As the other turian trailed off, clearly in awe of the spice in his hand, Nellus tried hard not to laugh at him. “It's not the Banner of the First Regiment.” He regretted his choice of words when Felix’s good mandible fluttered, embarrassed. “Look, I don’t need anything in return. Though, I wouldn’t mind hearing your story.” A pause, then: “If you're willing to tell it, that is. This isn't an interrogation. I'm just curious.”

For a moment, Felix looked unsure. His only eye flickered down to the bottle in his grasp as if he sought words he could use to convey his thoughts from the label. Spirits knew he had no trouble reading it, Nellus thought bitterly.

“There's not a whole lot to tell, really.”

Nellus pointedly stared at the fresh stump at the edge of the seat. “I rather doubt that.” Felix followed his gaze, but then quickly looked away. It didn’t appear as though he was used to the loss of it quite yet.

“Why the curiosity? I'm hardly the only amputee around here.”

Nellus considered him as he decided whether or not it was wise to divulge the reasoning just now. The officer knew how the story ended but did the stowaway know that? And if he didn't, would knowing alter the reply he gave? Probably, but then again, even if this was an official investigation it wasn't as though Nellus would be the officer conducting it. No, he would be sitting behind his desk, watching from afar and wishing he could know the answers.

Relaxing his stance by leaning against the door frame and folding his arms loosely across his keel, Nellus settled for transparency. There was no reason not to- Felix wasn't a criminal. “You were near dead when we found you- my partner and I. Maybe you remember?”

That got the younger turian's attention. A green iris locked onto him, recognition finally setting in. “I remember an asari and a turian. What did you say your name was?”

It was Nellus' turn to find himself embarrassed. Where he came from, it was customary to introduce yourself to a stranger. Granted, it was typically a fake name and it was usually so you could decide if the said stranger was a local or not and, if not, was worth pickpocketing. “Sorry. Nellus Tragen.”

“Nellus,” Felix repeated, testing the name as if it were a key to unlock his own head. Nellus didn't care for the name his parents gave him, but he never had the energy to go through all the paperwork and legal shit to change it.

“You remember,” Nellus pointed, bowing his head to give Felix a pointed look.

“Not much else after that.” He gently shook his head, mindful of the tender half of his face. “Just woke up on the floor at the hospital.”

“If you don't mind me saying, I'm surprised you did. You were...” Trailing off, he just managed to prevent himself from uttering what he really meant to say. “How can I say this gently?”

“Fucked up?” But damned if the kid didn't beat him to the punch. His lone eye shone brightly with both a sense of self-awareness and, it would seem, humor. Nellus chuckled.

“To put it mildly,” he agreed, his mandible flicking into a smirk. “Hell, I'm surprised they released you so soon.”

“I don't think they had much of a choice.”

Thousands of anguishing wails that spilled into the normally-silent waiting room breezed through his mind. “No. S'pose they didn't.”  

“This can simmer for a bit.” Felix tilted his head sideways to the bubbly stew beside him. “You're welcome to sit down if you have time. I don't think Kaius and Pliia will mind.”

The twilight in the docking bay would end soon and the night cycle would begin. Unsurprisingly, Nellus had no plans for the evening. “I got time, sure.”

There were two chairs at the small table. Nellus seated himself in one while Felix rolled up and parked himself across from him.

“Well,” Felix began, “The first thing I remember is waking up under a burning slab of metal.”

Nellus sat patiently throughout the entirety of the story, unable to decide what was crazier: the tale itself or the fact that he believed it. First, Felix had half his face melted off and his leg broken only to dig himself out and come face-to-face with two krogan. Fortunately for him, they were the rare breed of krogan that asked questions before shooting-- well, at least one of them was. Apparently, it was the questioning krogan that offered to carry him to safety and dress his wounds the best he could, before sticking him on a freighter bound for the Citadel as his only hope for survival. The kid had gone through hell and came out the other side, but not unscathed.

“You don't remember anything before that?”

Felix quietly shook his head.

“Were you wearing armor?”

At that, his new acquaintance regarded him with a sharpened stare. “Yes, but the sigil was burned off.”

“What about on the bodies you found around you?” Nellus realized too late that he'd asked the wrong question. All at once Felix's face became unreadable, emotions shut down at the query. He was a soldier, Nellus knew, and perhaps his question had caused that side of him to stand up and protect the identity of both his mission and his platoon, whether Felix himself was aware of it or not. The officer backpedaled quickly with, “Sorry. Wrong question. I know you're a soldier, though. We tried to run your DNA from the ship, but it was blocked.”

Nothing. Completely unreadable, much like the blue screen that denied access to his identity. Nellus wondered how many creds Felix could win in a game of Skyllian Five with a stoic face like that. Every turian soldier goes through some sort of interrogation training, but this was on a different level. Everything about him was relaxed and yet, somehow, there was a look in his eye that threatened to carve out the next throat to breathe the wrong question. No doubt, it was definitely a skill taught to him from somewhere or someone. Changing course, Nellus followed up with, “And you have no memory of where you came from? No family or anything?”

“There's one face I can remember.” The cut-throat stare dulled. “But I don't know who he is. Amber eyes, gray plates, and white Palaven tattoos.”

“That's...” Nellus frowned. “Not much to go on.”

He was answered with a shrug.

Throughout their conversation, the stew that simmered away on the stove behind him was filling the small space with an aroma so good it was almost orgasmic. For the most part, his stomach had behaved itself, but it was growling now. Despite Nellus' attempt to stifle the sound, Felix picked up on it.

“Hungry? You're welcome to some, if you like.”

It was tempting, but even he was above taking food from the homeless. “I'm all right, but I should probably get going,” he said while climbing to his feet, knowing he didn't actually have anything that needed his attention other than his stomach. He had no desire to risk wearing out his welcome as he was wont to do.

“You sure? There's plenty.” For a heartbeat, Nellus could almost pretend that his company was actually appreciated and that his host wasn't just being polite. But he was too much of a realist for that.

“I'm sure,” he replied, pushing in his chair. “But I work at the desk just down the way. You'll see me around.”

Nellus felt that ocean-green eye follow him around the table, but he didn't want to meet it. He needed to leave before he did any damage. Any _more_ damage that is.

A doubtful sounding, 'I hope so,' was what he thought he heard as he exited Unit 48 and stepped out into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

From that night on, Nellus' routine began to change. It was slow, at first, until he was approached for the first time by someone regarding his little donation.

“You're the one with the spices, right?” It was a grizzled woman that approached his desk, a soup thermos in her taloned hand. By the sound of her raspy voice and haywire subvocals, she was nursing an illness.

Nellus resisted the urge to put some distance between himself and the refugee. It was almost impossible not to lean back in his chair when she gave a rattled cough into her arm.

Glancing around, he didn't see any cameras or anyone waiting to jump out and declare the practical joke he'd fallen for. The woman must have taken his silence for confusion because she pressed: “The donation on C-Sec's behalf?”

“Yes?” he replied cautiously, waiting for the second he would need to hold his breath lest she coughs in his space again.

The woman emitted a wispy chuckle, raspy vocals chirping her enthusiasm beneath an apparent film of mucus. “The kid could cook before, but now?” She flared her mandibles once into a grateful smile before turning away from the officer and shuffling back towards the camps.

As Nellus watched her leave, his gaze drifted to a familiar turian just to the side of the woman's intended path. Felix was by no means the only wheelchair-bound turian, but he somehow managed to stick out like a swollen mandible. It was a wonder Nellus never noticed him before.

The three Posnion fledglings had him surrounded with wide, curious eyes and their mandibles fluttering as they seemed to be lobbing question after question at their favorite person, but Felix didn't seem bothered at all. He was all smiles and bright eyes-- _'eye.'_

Then Felix looked up, spotted him, and raised his hand in the same greeting Nellus had watched him do for every other refugee that acknowledged him and the fledglings as they passed. That, coupled with the sickly woman's appreciation, caused a shameful amount of excitement that he would never give voice to.

He felt useful.  

Nellus genuinely hoped he didn't look too surprised when he smiled and raised his hand to casually return the greeting.

It was after that event when Nellus began to take the time to swing by after his shifts. Five minutes here, ten minutes there, gradually his visits grew longer. Though, he didn't always see the proverbial candle at the center of the little shanty town that was now the docking bay. He began speaking with other evacuees too, which eventually lead to nightly card games.

Nellus suspected that his presence was only tolerated largely due to him being the one with the most creds to gamble away, but that was all right. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying himself.

Novius Romuldos was a cranky old son-of-a-klixen that Nellus initially disliked until they uncovered a commonality between them which endeared himself: A scathing sense of humor.

“Keep watching my cards like that, Romuldos and I'll have to get the mop,” Nellus chided without looking up.

“I'll mop you, boy,” the old turian growled.

“Fine, but please do so after you clean up the drippings from your sheath. Wouldn't want someone to slip.”

Nellus kept his eyes on the winning hand in his talons, ignoring the chorus of guffaws around the table. Or the way Felix choked on his water, besmirching the ever-thinning layer of bandages on his face.

Nitiria Ursitus wasn't one for long conversations or... any at all, but no matter where Nellus sat at the table, she always managed to beat his hand.

“How?” he exclaimed, throwing down his useless cards in frustration while the cheers erupted from the patrons he sat with. The only response he got was the orange glow of her omni-tool and a quirked mandible as she waited for him to reluctantly transfer his due credits.

There was also Octalio who flirted with anything that had a pulse. Tulria would join their games late once her children were tucked in. Velcus preferred to be drunk more hours than he was sober, which Nellus didn't mind because it made his tells easy to spot. Baeria and her mate, Nimian were also frequent players and often tag-teamed to a moderate amount of success. And those were just a few of the many faces that Nellus would come to recognize and greet when he would come in for his shift.

Felix joined them most nights, but not always. On one of the nights he didn't, Nellus had finally earned back a respectful sum of credits from that cheating _coluber,_ Nitiria. In his opinion, that more than warranted the small amount of time to track him down, which was never hard.

“I just follow my nose in the direction of food and sure enough...” Nellus jested, leaning in the door frame while the sought turian sat in his wheelchair and poked at the donated roast that was sizzling in a pan.

“Calling me fat?”

“Not at all, though your muscle tone has definitely suffered some loss since you arrived.” Nellus made a point to squint suspiciously. “Except for your right arm. That looks like it gets plenty of exercise.”

He expected at least chuckle for his efforts, possibly even the need to dodge a projectile or two. What he wasn't expecting was the sight of his friend sinking sadly in his chair. Immediately, he regretted his words.

“Hey,” Nellus pushed off the door frame, his subharmonics thrumming an apology. “Everything all right?”

“Yes.” Nellus waited. Felix had an exceptional card face, but a liar he was not. “No.” - _'There it is.'-_ “Pliia and Kaius are going with me to get fitted for a prosthetic tomorrow.” Felix's eye fell on the stump of his leg while his mandible pressed against his jaw, obviously working to suppress his traitorous subharmonics.

Though Nellus' gaze followed the younger turian's, his mind had not.

“That's...” Trailing off, his second vocals buzzed his uncertainty. “Terrible?” Felix blinked but did not respond. He simply continued to stare into the space where his missing limb should have been, possibly remembering the events that resulted in its loss. After several seconds in which Nellus contemplated fleeing, he tentatively asked, “Sorry. Why's that terrible?”

The lone green eye blinked again before it suddenly rose to meet his stare. “It's not,” he answered, yet Nellus got the feeling they both heard the lie that it was. He could easily recognize the sight of a steel door slamming down on a conversation, but he was never one to try and pry it open once it was shut.

Seeing the normally upbeat turian sit slouched in his chair with his mandible tugged into an unconvincing smile made Nellus linger. At the same time, however, he was all but told to go and the last thing he ever wanted to do was wear out his welcome. At any rate, it wasn't like his presence was needed. Felix had his surrogate family along with a whole encampment of friends for support. He was just a drop in that bucket.

Not knowing what else to say, he thrummed his understanding and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we learn a bit more about Felix and how he came to be on that ship, but I decided to keep his story brief as I've already written a whole chapter explaining it from his POV. It's chapter 1 of [Raking Over the Ashes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192825/chapters/27683172) :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for leaving such nice comments. It definitely made posting chapter 2 a lot less nerve-wracking. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** Gather 'round, kids. Here's a long one for ya.
> 
> **My wonderful betas throughout this story:**  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 

Nellus was nearing the end of both his shift and, mercifully, the last of a shipping manifest when the twilight cycle turned on and bathed the walkways in an orange glow. Pinching the bridge of his nasal plates, he sighed audibly when his eyes fell on the report of a plasma cannon that Pit had tried, and failed, to get onto the Citadel.

_'And he wonders why we insist on the cargo searches.'_

“It's Novius' birthday,” a familiar voice rumbled nearby, catching him off guard. Blinking twice in mild startlement, he leaned sideways to peer around his terminal. The particular voice that usually resonated from mid-level wasn’t there. He was forced to look up. And up.

Felix was standing.

Not only that, his bandages were completely gone, baring the ruin of his scarred face for all the station to see. Where his sweeping white Palaven tattoos drew in to the center of his face, they dissolved in ragged edges as they tried to stretch over his right. The visage before him was just that much more starkly broken for the ruined design. Angry blue cracks and scars carved their way through hide and any remaining plate on the battered side. White teeth, that had likely been knocked out during his 'accident' stood pearly white and freshly regrown without the cover of a second mandible to hide them.

Most noticeable of all was the empty black socket that evenly met his stare.

“Uhh...” A cautious hum caught Nellus' attention and tore his gaze from the empty hole on the right side to the still-intact green eye that watched him timorously on the left. “See something you like?”

It was a weak joke, Nellus knew, but there was a deeper meaning behind it that he instantly recognized. He'd done it to himself countless times, a defense mechanism to guard a suffering heart. Forcing his mouth shut -not knowing when it had fallen open- he quirked his mandibles into his best grin and stood from his seat.

“Felix?!” he exclaimed, rounding his desk to clap a hand on his friend's cowl. “'Fraid I didn't recognize you without your chair under you. You got your new leg!”

By the skeptical look Felix leveled at him, he wasn't convinced. Nellus only beamed harder.

“Yeah,” he replied with a nod before hiking up the pant leg to show off the new durasteel rig that supported him. It definitely wasn't the best prosthetic money could buy, but it served its intended purpose. The tempered metal joints looked like they mimicked the natural flexion of a turian foot, sans the talons and spur he would have had on his calf.

Nellus gave an impressed chirp. “Niiiiice.”

“Uh huh.”

“No, _really_.” He slid his hand from his cowl outward to take hold of Felix's shoulder and he gave it a reassuring squeeze before letting that hand fall back to his side. “It's good to see you up and about. How's it feel?”

Felix flicked his mandible into a tentative, noticeably lopsided, smile. “Feels pretty good.” He demonstrated by lifting his healthy leg, transferring all his weight onto the fake one. “Chafes a little where it attaches, but the doctor said I'll get used to it after a while. Good thing I didn't lose the plating here,” he said, tapping the top of his thigh, just above his knee where the prosthetic hooked to.

“You didn't want to go with the...” Nellus trailed off, gesturing to the damaged side of the young turian's face. “cybernetics?”

Felix huffed a laughed. “Kaius says that ladies love scars.”

Nellus endeavored to look past the deflection he saw in that response. “Ladies, maybe, but you might frighten small children.”

Felix glared at him, chuffing in denial, but the amused lilt in his subharmonics cooled any heat from it. “I don't know why I thought you'd say anything different. I'm just glad to be rid of those bandages. They were getting itchy.”

“Lack of hygiene will do that to you,” Nellus quipped and dodged a playful swat of Felix’s talons.

“Hey, I take a sponge bath every night!”

Nellus emitted a deliberate, obscene-sounding groan in response. “Oh, keep going. I'm almost there.”

He earned a round of genuine laughter from his friend for that one. Though admittedly, it made for a slightly unnerving sight as Nellus couldn't quite decide exactly which side of Felix's face to focus on. On the left was a twenty-something turian with his mandible flared as he laughed. The right was a horrible expanse of scars and torn plating, an emotionless mouth with no mandible with which to express with and a hollow socket, black as an abyss.

That... was going to take some getting used to.

Felix's laughter didn't last, but his subvocals sang a song of appreciation. Maybe what Felix needed wasn't platitudes for his good looks, but a healthy dose of gallows humor. Nellus could manage that.

“Anyway,” Felix went on. “Are you coming tonight or not?”

“For Novius, that sweet prince? I don't know if I'm worthy.”

Felix snorted. “He likes you. I think he'd be hurt if you didn't show.”

Nellus sincerely doubted that. Internally, he grasped for reasons not to go -a typical response for when he was invited anywhere. Being around people was like exercising. It involved talking himself into it every single time, but when he did he always felt better for it.

“Alright.” Nellus took a moment to process the completed manifest on his terminal before clocking himself out. “Twist my arm, why don't ya?”

Nellus rounded the desk so they could make their way towards the camps. The sounds and sights that greeted them were a dead giveaway for a celebration already in effect. Novius sat in his usual spot at the card table they secured for themselves most nights. When the old man glanced up and spotted them walking toward the group, his withered mandibles flared into a wide, fatherly smile as his eyes fell on Felix. Clearly happy to see him up and moving.

For a stolen moment, Nellus allowed himself to be deluded that these were his friends too. That he wasn't just a tag-along. Stealing a glance at the upbeat individual beside him, he felt his maxilla shift into an unfamiliar grin. It felt foreign on his face, but he couldn’t help it. He supposed Felix just had that effect on people. Maybe the effect was a little stronger on him... but he'd never admit that aloud.

“What's that cheating sack o'shit doing at my birthday party?!” The cantankerous old turian all but bellowed.

“When I heard it was your big day, I just couldn't miss it!” Nellus shouted back. “I'd love to hear some stories about the Unification Wars. You were there, right?!”

To a chorus of guffaws and bellows, Nellus took his place among the gaggle of vagabonds, feeling more at home than he ever had in his apartment.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Nellus was sitting at his station, reading a news report on his omni-tool. He was supposed to be rifling through messages, securing dates for when the next freighters were scheduled to come in, but this was… precedent. Commander Shepard and her crew had done the unthinkable -they cured the genophage and, in doing so, established an alliance between the krogan and the turians.

“Nellus?”

He looked up at the sound of his name and found two female turians standing behind his terminal, watching him curiously. Baeria and Nimian were a mated pair. The former was taller than both her partner and Nellus himself, with bright lilac eyes that shown out through dark plates, lined by the jade strokes of Gothis. Nimian stood at average height with beige plates, lined with the same colony tattoos as her partner’s, with a set of golden eyes that regarded him with open curiosity.

“Yeah?”

Nimian exchanged a glance with her mate before she opened up her omni-tool and approached him so that he could see the surface on her wrist. “Bae and I were thinking-”

“Should I brace myself?” He glanced back and forth between the two women.

“No,” Nimian replied, her second vocals coloring the word humorously. “And we've spoken with the others. We've decided to do something for Felix.”

“He works so hard for us,” Baeria added. “We -all of us- decided to pool our funds to get him something we think he'd like, but...”

'But' was right. Nimian raised a holographic image for an advertisement of a leather eyepatch. Apparently made from real perceaclops leather, which was in short supply these days since Palaven was... well, under siege at the moment. The ad was from a well-known company out of Illium that worked openly with black market goods but was _reputable--_ if that was a word he could use to describe glorified smugglers-- enough to not cheat their customers. All their goods were genuine, technically legal, but above all: Pricey.

“He's open about his appearance, sure, but we can tell he's bothered by it. We thought perhaps he'd appreciate it and since he's obviously from Palaven, maybe...”

“You're hoping this will jog some of his memories?”

“That's probably too much to hope for,” Nimian admitted. “But it couldn't hurt, right?”

Baeria hummed a sound of disappointment. “We all chipped in what we could, but...”

There was that ‘but’ again. They were still well short of the price tag. A good 1500 credits, by the look of it. Nellus raised his omni-tool, discreetly checking what he had left in savings. It wasn't really necessary as he knew what he had, but somehow looking at the number put it in perspective. He was actually considering dropping 1500 creds on a scrap of leather.

The spices were one thing. That purchase benefited the whole community; his part in contributing to the many, but this was one guy. Albeit, a charming guy that smiled more than one would think a person with half a face could or would-- Like a friendly, three-legged varren that still wants to play. And he did work hard, asking for nothing in return.

Nellus paused to give it a final consideration, then nodded and swiped his gauntleted hand across the orange interface to set up the transfer. Looking up from his wrist, he met the eyes of the two women as it went through. “That should do it.”

 

* * *

 

Turns out, Reapers have a nasty habit of delaying shipments, so it took a few days longer than normal for the parcel to make it to the Citadel. When it did, it arrived in a gray, unremarkable vacuum-sealed space bag. Briefly, Nellus entertained the idea of having it gift wrapped -he would be useless at attempting a task like that himself-- but ultimately decided against it. The thought initially occurred to him when he considered the empty socket it would be covering, but after weeks of protection beneath medi-gel laced bandages it had healed beyond the risk of further infection.

That… and he just didn’t do it.

Arriving early to work the next day, parcel in hand, Nellus delivered it straight to Baeria and Nimian before his shift. They, in turn, went to Kaius and Pliia to ensure that Felix would join them for cards later that night.

He was forced to wait until the end of his shift to meet them, which ended up carrying on past the twilight cycle and into night. He could already hear them gathered at the usual table while he was in the process of clocking out and shutting down his terminal. With no opportunity to change, he was the last person to take his seat at the table, still clad in C-Sec black and blue.

To his misfortune, Novius sat directly to his right, sneering around a cigar in his maw, but at least Nellus had a clear view of Felix who sat directly across from him. Velcus was already drunk and slouched low in his seat next to quiet and calculating Nitiria.

The table was chuckling over a favored topic: the irony of Felix's name.

“I don't know,” the man in question began with a languid tilt of his head once the mirth died down. “A month ago I rode a krogan across the desert only to wake up sick and dying on a cargo freighter. And now, here I am, spending my evening with you fine people.” He gestured around the table with a mug of turian ale, his attention lingering a beat longer on Kaius, seated to his right. “I'd say the name is rather fitting.”

Behind a skeptical chuff, Nellus quietly agreed. It was an unusual name, meaning ‘lucky.’ It was a rare parent in a culture such as theirs’ to name a child after happenstance instead of skill. No one was under any illusion that ‘Felix’ was his birth name, but whoever Felix was before, his new moniker had consumed the old one, leaving little of the lost identity behind.  

Through a cloud of smoke from Novius’ cigar, made thicker by the bright white lights that shone upon it, the man of the hour earned several hearty claps on the back of his cowl for his clever delivery. Felix waited for the thumps to die down before bringing the mug to his mouth. Joining him, Nellus and the other card players raised their mugs in turn. It certainly wasn't the best beer Nellus had ever tasted, but it didn't deserve the scowl Felix adopted once the liquid drained into his maw. He looked nothing short of nauseated as he appeared to struggle to keep it down.

Now that Nellus thought about it, he couldn't recall ever seeing him with alcohol of any sort until now.

"What's the matter, Felix?" Octalio inquired with a coquettish leer, seizing the opportunity to lean into Felix's space from the seat directly to his left. It was common knowledge that the vorcha-fisted piss mound had been trying to get into Felix’s pants for weeks now. Granted, he wasn’t the only one. Sometimes it seemed like half the encampment was out of their plates for him. "Never had a beer before?"

Both the question and the flirtation went unnoticed. Felix had drawn in on himself, completely separated from the noise and the laughter around the table as he stared down at the bubbly contents of his cup. Was he embarrassed that he couldn’t hold his drink? Possibly, but the haunted look that shadowed his face spoke otherwise. As seconds ticked by and his silence lengthened, it started to spread throughout the table, drawing the attention of the others.

Feeling a compulsion to step in and redirect the stares from his friend, Nellus picked up on his act in Felix's story. “Spirits, I thought he _was_ dead when we found him!" he crowed from the other end of the table.

It worked.

“Thank the Spirits he wasn't!” Nimian exclaimed, slouched as she was against Baeria’s side. “If I had to eat that stale ration paste one more night...” Trailing off, her statement was lost in a wave of agreeable subharmonics. As the others chimed in, Nellus realized Felix was looking at him, his mandible lifted slightly in a small, asymmetric smile. Nellus dipped his chin to acknowledge the discrete show of gratitude.

Feeling the weight of the gift in a compartment in his armor, Nellus decided that now was as good a time as any to bring it up. Though, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. In his mind, old speeches from his youth began to play and he mentally tried to sort through them for something apt.

_‘Hello, I’m here to acknowledge-- no. We’d like to commemorate-- too formal. We’re gathered here today-- shit.’_ Why hadn’t he prepared for this? And why was it left up to him anyway?

Through a stubborn cloud of smoke and the din of conversation, Nellus’ gaze wandered back across the table. Felix was inclined forward so that he could listen to whatever it was the normally silent Nitiria had to say to him. It was something of an odd sight from Nellus’ perspective, outside-looking-in. A whole clan of displacements, from all walks of life, come together through their mutual friendship with a one-eyed stowaway. Suddenly, he knew what he was going to say.  

“Alright, alright," Nellus waved an arm to silence the table, feeling the weight of many knowing looks suddenly falling upon him from all angles. Mustering his confidence, he met Felix’s half gaze and told him: "We got you a little something, Felix.”

“Nellus!” Felix put on a show of feigned disbelief. “Is tonight the night you finally join me in my bed?”

It was easy to forget the guy’s roguish side that enjoyed swooping in when least expected. Several hollers cawed at the ribbing as Nellus found himself floundering at the momentum Felix had just robbed from him. In an effort to recover, he waved them off and fished out the black piece of leather from his pocket and passed it to the turian next to him. Around the table it went until it fell into its new owner’s talons.

Forget nice. Neither he nor Felix were ones for flowery accolades and he wasn’t inclined to start now. Nellus looked him dead in his only eye and parried with:  “Just because you're comfortable with that ugly mug, doesn't mean the rest of us should have to look at it!”

To his expectation, and slight relief, the intent hit home and Felix fumbled to catch the gift as he howled with laughter. It was downright contagious. Nellus tried to hide his amusement behind his cup but aborted the plan for fear of coughing up his drink as his own laughter escaped him. There was a kinship in such a harsh-sounding jest that only two self-aware people could understand.

“Well, go ahead, put it on!” Baeria prompted, leaning eagerly over the table to get a better look.

Felix grinned an uneven smile and carefully buckled the leather over the ruin that was his right eye. Once it was fitted, he looked around the table to the sound of several approving chirps.

_Damn._ It really did look good on him.

“Did you all hear that?” Nellus asked, making a show of searching for a sound that only he heard. “I'm pretty sure I just heard more than a few plates fly open at the very sight of you.”

The table erupted, especially when Octalio -that refuse-loined krogan fondler- hollered: “I bet yours were the first, Nellus!”

 

* * *

 

At exactly twenty minutes past the time Nellus' shift was _supposed_ to be up, he found himself standing on the landing pad with a powerful urge to kill Chellick.

It wasn’t that he had plans to go to the encampment for cards that night. As much as he enjoyed going, and even though it had been occurring less frequently, he was beginning to feel ‘peopled out’ again. A break was all he needed and it wasn't as though he would be missed at the table. Felix wasn't playing tonight anyway. So he had resigned himself to a quiet night at home, maybe sit down with a shitty instant meal– the kind that's flavored with enough preservatives to embalm a body.

And that’s when Chellick had approached his desk.

“Heading home?” Chellick spent a lot of years working undercover cases. The man knew how to make a quiet approach.

Nellus had resisted the urge to close his eyes, his finger sliding away from the key that would have set him free for the day. Glancing up at his captor-- _captain_ , he found his alert emerald eyes staring at him attentively, towering over his monitor. By the tone of his voice, Nellus already knew Chellick expected only one answer.

With a last longing glance at the sign-off icon, he looked up at his boss, catching the stiffness of his posture and the way his mandibles fluttered against his jaw, giving the impression that he had just beat a hasty path to Nellus’ desk. “Judging your expression, I'm thinking 'no'.”

“I need you armed and on the landing pad in five.”

The landing pad? Armed? While not an unusual request, it was the urgency coloring his tone that made Nellus' eyes narrow at his Captain.

“Look, if it's Pit again-”

“It's not.” He was curtly cut off, Chellick’s subharmonics brooking no room for further questions.

“Yes, Captain.” Was all he was able to say.

So now Nellus stood on the tarmac, to Chellick's right, with a C-Sec assigned shotgun resting in his hands. Mya was at Chellick's left, her blue hands flexed at her sides, ready to fire up with dark energy should the need to arise. By the look on her face, however, she was just as clueless as to the purpose of being dragged down here as Nellus was. There were no more ships scheduled to dock for another nine hours.

Sneaking a glance at his Captain, Chellick was staring off at the artificial skyline, waiting, white-striped mandibles pulled tightly to his jaw in anticipation. Clearly, _something_ was expected to drop out of the atmosphere and only he was privy to it. As tempted as Nellus was to ask him exactly what all the secrecy was about, he knew better. Chellick had a reason and he had long since earned his confidence, enough that Nellus wouldn’t question him, content to keep his mouth shut.

Mya, on the other hand, shamelessly glanced between him and their Captain. Every time she'd meet Nellus’ gaze, there was a silent question in her eyes that he had to ignore. They'd find out shortly, but until then he would set the example he knew Chellick wanted. Fixing his eyes on the skyline, the three of them waited.

Nellus resisted the urge to check his omni, so he didn't know for sure how long they waited. Minutes, perhaps, though it felt longer than that. Eventually, however, a speck appeared in the faux sky. Nothing too strange about that, other than it being unscheduled. As the speck steadily enlarged, Nellus was able to pick out details on the ship. Though his gene-mods weren't the best that credits could buy, there was no mistaking what kind of ship it was: A Turian Hierarchy Vessel-- a fast Kraxus class Frigate.

That, in of itself, wasn't unusual. Frigates are a common enough sight on the Citadel. What was strange was where it was docking. Frigates usually pulled up to a docking tube, not the tarmac. There was also a whole list of protocol in place for landings. They had to be checked and monitored extensively with wait times up to fifteen minutes before anyone could disembark. Somehow, all of that would be disregarded today. Whatever the purpose for this ship's arrival, it meant to leave quickly.

Nellus' grip tightened on his firearm.

The heat from the thrusters blew against his plates when the ship finally landed, warming them pleasantly while evoking not-so-pleasant memories of his military days. After a few moments, the hatch lowered and out walked a squat volus, flanked by two stern-looking Hierarchy soldiers, armed and armored to the teeth.

The trio beat a straight path for Chellick.

The volus sucked a breath through his vents before speaking. “Thank you for your discretion, Captain.”

“Of course.” Chellick nodded. “She should be arriving any moment now.”

_'She?'_

Again, Nellus found himself tempted to ask, desperate even. He tried to catch Chellick's eyes, but the Captain was far too focused on the horizon to notice. Stifling his question, Nellus followed his gaze and continued to wait.

“There she is,” Chellick rumbled after a handful of minutes. The wait wasn't long this time as a second tiny speck appeared in the artificial sky. They all went still, squinting-- well, he assumed the volus was. It was hard to tell-- as the dot grew larger and larger until Mya gasped at the sight of the newly-painted blue and white colors of the _Normandy_ SR-2.

Realization dawned on Nellus. He needn’t wonder the cause for Chellick's secrecy any longer. If _that_ ship was covertly meeting a Hierarchy frigate, that could only mean one thing: The arrival of Primarch Victus.

The _Normandy_ descended upon the docking bay like a bird of prey from Taetrus’ coastal cliffs, cutting the air with its precision. Perhaps it was the legend-- almost mythology-- that surrounded the vessel, but Nellus could practically feel a sense of power radiating from her in the heat waves of the turbines… or maybe that was just plain old radiation. In either case, she was a gorgeous ship, Alliance colors or otherwise. While it was far from the first time Nellus had laid eyes on the famous _Normandy_ , he’d never done so without the obstruction of at least a window between them.

To the naked eye, the vessel’s angles gave even more pause; skipped a beat of his heart, and spoke to him.

It was hard to believe that her pilot was so disabled because he guided the iconic frigate into port like the ship was truly an extension of himself. It was thoroughly impressive for anyone, but astonishing for someone who could barely walk to fly with that kind of skill. Like a fledgling that could jump, but not crawl.

Nellus wondered what the pilot could do with the ship, given leave to put the vessel through her paces. Supposedly the _Normandy_ was outfitted with an oversized Tantalus drive core. Not something seen often, even in well-funded cruisers. By the vibrations beating against the lining of his cowl, he believed it. As he watched, the great frigate emitted one last roar before falling silent in her slumber, safely nested against the docking tube.

_‘Why not just keep the Primarch on there?’_ he almost asked aloud before reminding himself that he wasn’t supposed to know the meaning for its unscheduled visit.

When the braces clamped shut on her wings, a bright white grid flashed, tracing the entire length of the frigate’s hull from nose to tail. The light show flashed, then faded; a mass effect field cradling the immense weight of the _Normandy_ where she perched.

He couldn’t help but think that it also held her hostage, unable to fly again until undocking clearance was given. That, or until an Alliance admiral punches out the human ambassador to take control of the locking mechanisms.

Nellus’ right mandible quirked. That had been an… _interesting_ night. Even though Anderson was an admiral at the time, not yet a Councilor, Nellus suspected that he himself was on a very short list of people who could be tasked with arresting the opinionated human, if only due to him being an officer who worked so frequently on the docks. Not that he wanted _that_ on his personal record of accomplishments, but it made quite the story.

With a pneumatic hiss no louder than a strong whisper, the _Normandy’s_ shuttle hatch lowered to the tarmac. A standard procedure so that any large cargo or supplies bought on the Citadel could be transported easily up the hatch once it passed through processing. Today, it had a different purpose. One very important and vital individual needed to transfer from one ship to another without being seen by the throngs of people in the docking bay. Nevermind that said individual had enough on his mind with the war that dealing with crowds and publicity was asking too much; there was also the constant threat of a subtly indoctrinated person in the sea of people, ready and waiting to take any opportunity to weaken morale.

Though admittedly, it was kind of humorous to imagine the Primarch of Palaven getting transferred ship to ship like illicit contraband.

“That’s our cue,” said Chellick without looking at either himself or Mya. Flanked by Hierarchy guards they started toward the opened hatch with quick, purposed steps. Mya followed at their heels, focused and silent. Nellus’ chest tightened with a weird sort of pride at the sight of the asari’s hands fisted in a controlled biotic flare. She was young-- for an asari-- and maybe a little immature, but no one could say that she didn’t take her job as an officer very seriously. Assuming they survived this war, Nellus had no illusions as to whom he’d be calling ‘boss’ in the future.

Nellus allowed old military habits to take over, crossing his gun across his chest, ready to use at a second’s notice, and fell into step behind the group.

Later, he would reflect on how uncanny it felt for his old, inner soldier to take over after years sitting idly behind a desk. It felt natural to scan their surroundings, searching for the odd glint of a sniper’s scope or a suspiciously placed object signifying a trap. His heart beat in a synchronized rhythm with the slow, measured breaths he willed himself to take. As they ascended the _Normandy’s_ ramp, Nellus stepped to the right of Chellick, quietly signaling Mya to follow his lead and she took the left, creating a ‘V’ formation with their Captain at the head.

It was at the top of the ramp that Nellus’ professionalism almost faltered when they came to a stop, face to face, with three of the most influential people in the galaxy. He had seen two of them in passing before, dressed in civvies as they went about their personal business, but this was fundamentally different. Commander Shepard stood dwarfed by the two turians in her company, although, her presence was no less inspiring. Her charcoal armor gleamed in its pristine condition beneath the overhead lights, the fire of her hair and the N7 sigil shining like a beacon-- or a warning, like the colorful scales that hinted to the potent venom of a deadly creature.

Mirroring her position stood Advisor Garrus Vakarian. His was a face Nellus once knew well, though he wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend. More of an acquaintance but wasn’t that the way for most people in his life? Nellus certainly never thought he’d see him again, let alone in the meritocracy tier Vakarian managed to claw for himself. Vakarian was a little younger than he and Chellick, having opted to follow in his father’s famous footsteps and continued Hierarchy duty with C-Sec at the age of twenty-five. By then, Nellus and Chellick were into their third year and Vakarian was promptly placed under Decian’s watchful-- _and at times conveniently straying--_ eye.

Looking at him now, Nellus could barely see anything of that irritating fledgling that used to send then-Executor Pallin into a rage like no one else could. The most noticeable change was his face, heavily scarred as it was, leaving little left of the geometric stripes that once lined the right side. Nellus couldn’t help but think of Felix when he looked at it, though Vakarian was still fortunate to be in possession of both eyes. But it was more than his physical appearance. He _stood_ differently, almost arrogantly, but there was a chill in his eyes that only thawed slightly when he pulled a mandible into a familiar smile that he directed at his old supervisor.

Chellick, however, did not return the grin as his eyes were solely fixed on the individual positioned between Shepard and Vakarian.

Primarch Victus.

“Primarch,” Chellick stiffly greeted, snapping off the most respectful salute Nellus had ever seen him perform in his life. “My officers and I will escort you to your ship. If you’ll follow us.” That hard voice didn’t sound like him either. Nellus watched his friend-- _no. Captain--_ turn on his heel and move between Nellus and Mya to lead the way down the ramp. He heard Vakarian take up position right behind him to flank the Primarch with Commander Shepard.

That was how Nellus, lowly desk peon of Docking Bay D-24, found himself guarding the _fucking Spirits-damned Primarch of Palaven_. This was not a job he signed up for and he silently cursed Chellick as he felt the proverbial target being placed upon his head when they descended the ramp. And yet, at the same time, he couldn’t deny the minuscule sense of turian pride that swelled in his chest. It grew just a little more as additional Hierarchy guards joined them and fell into tertiary positions to protect the Primarch.

They marched in absolute silence, which felt strangely out of place. No comms were going off, no omni-tools glowed. It was as if they were strolling through the park, which Nellus suspected was exactly what Chellick was going for. He wanted no one on the Citadel to know who they were escorting.

“Primarch Victus,” the volus, who had waited behind with one of the remaining guards, approached the Primarch without preamble. He sucked some air through his vents and introduced himself. “Han Carlo, former Economic Advisor to the late Primarch Fedorian.” Another breath. “It’s an honor to finally meet you in person.”

Primarch Victus only dipped his chin in response before he turned and started toward the Hierarchy ship, knowing the rest of the party would immediately take up position around him. Sneaking a glance, Nellus saw a man that looked… out of place. He saw a general, not a diplomat. Clearly, Primarch Victus wasn’t used to being escorted like he was something precious or breakable. There was also a haunted look to his eyes that Nellus wondered if anyone else saw. To the Primarch’s credit, he walked tall for a man shouldering the immense burden that he did.

“I’ll be in touch, sir,” said Vakarian once they’d ascended into the cargo bay of the Hierarchy vessel. Then Nellus watched-- with something akin to fascination-- as Vakarian, bold as could be, reached for the Primarch’s shoulder like they were old friends. To Nellus’ further shock, Primarch Victus _returned the gesture._

“Don’t die out there, Vakarian.” The Primarch’s mandibles pulled into a smile that could only be called grateful... even warm. With a tug on Vakarian’s shoulder, he pulled the younger turian toward him and said something with his second vocals that sounded distinctly like, _‘And lock the door next time.’_

With a last _knowing_ look between Vakarian and the Commander, the Primarch took his leave of his welcoming entourage, stopping only long enough to reach for Shepard’s hand in the human greeting. “Fight well, Commander. Until we meet again.”

“Likewise, Primarch,” she replied, returning his handshake with a firm grip despite her tiny-looking hand.

The Primarch didn’t look back as he disappeared into the ship, flanked by the Hierarchy guards and the volus at his heels.

Chellick leveled a scrutinizing look at Vakarian. Having not missed the Primarch’s words either, his eyes flickered between the human-- who clearly did not hear the subharmonics-- and Vakarian.

“Shall we?” Was all Vakarian had to say, gesturing with his hand to the ramp and clearing his throat. He did an admirable job at hiding the blue flush the hide of his neck had taken on.

It would seem Vakarian had come a lot farther than Nellus initially thought.

Chellick visibly deflated now that the Primarch had been removed from his care and returned to the doting hands of Mother Hierarchy. Turning for the ramp, it was as if he couldn’t exit the ship fast enough. Nellus, however, lingered for just a moment, gazing into the belly of the vessel where Victus had disappeared. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had met him somewhere before. The general was fairly well-known, sure, but...

“Tragen!” Chellick had come back up the ramp and stood moodily in the entrance. “Time to go!”

Snapped from his thoughts, Nellus followed his captain down the incline where they stood alongside the Commander and Vakarian. It would seem that Mya had seized the opportunity to leave the second it was presented.

Heat pelted his plates as the Hierarchy frigate roared to life and he had to squint against the onslaught. Together, they watched the ship lift from the ground, the hatch rising as the vessel hovered above the landing pad. She was by no means as impressive as the _Normandy_ but memories both good and bad came creeping into his mind as he watched the ship go through the motions of flight. Rotating on the spot, her turbines fired to life and she was gone.

 

* * *

  

Freedom was almost at hand. Nellus could almost taste it as he led the way off the landing pad, back into his daily prison.

Chellick strolled behind him, chatting with Vakarian and Shepard as they followed along. Snippets of their conversation filtered through, though Nellus didn’t pay much attention. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop where he didn’t belong.

“You’re going to make me ask, aren't you?” It wasn’t a question and Nellus knew, without a glance, the sideways look Chellick was shooting at his respondent.

Vakarian made a contemplative sound with his vocals. “Depends on the question.”

“What happened to your face?” Curiosity got the better of him and Nellus glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on the scars in question.

“Ah.” Vakarian canted his head to the side. “Got in a fight with a gunship.”

“A gunship.” Chellick wasn’t convinced.

“Yes,” he replied, flicking his mandibles, annoyed. “And keep it behind your plates, Chellick. I know how irresistible they make me, but do your best.” Nellus didn’t miss the odd, almost playful, look that was exchanged between Vakarian and the Commander. Or the way the corner of her mouth had twitched.

Chellick snorted, disinclined to be baited by the innuendo. “Looks like you lost that fight.”

“You should see the other guy. If you can find him, that is.” He nudged the Commander with his elbow. “This one here made that a little difficult.”

Shepard chuckled lightly, and though her mouth was smiling, her eyes reflected a listless sheen. “I’d sure take a gunship over this mess, right now.”

Finally, they entered the main lobby of D-24 and Nellus was about to beat a straight line for his terminal. He could already imagine clocking out and making his escape. Being home in his quiet apartment where he would settle down with his instant dinner before taking refuge in the sanctuary of his bed where no one could bother him. He could already feel the wave of stress recede like waves.

“We haven’t been back here in a while,” he overheard Vakarian acknowledge, likely referring to the camps that sprawled just feet from Nellus’ desk, growing closer as days went on and more space was demanded. He and the Commander were a common enough sight when the _Normandy_ was docked; the Primarch’s eyes and ears on the wayward turians of the Citadel, Nellus assumed. “Have things here gone from bad to worse yet?”

Fantasies always have that tendency to come crashing horribly back down like waves, as well. For Nellus, they did so in the form of his Captain’s voice when he said: “Tragen here has taken quite an interest in the refugee camps lately, haven’t you?”

That wave had an undertow, too. Dragging him down to drown.

‘ _Fuck me.’_ For the second time that day, he was powerless to stop Chellick from getting between him and his heart’s desire like the worst damn cockblock in the galaxy.

There was nothing stopping him from ignoring the question. He could just keep walking, full throttle ahead… but, of course, he didn’t. Instead, he turned around to meet three sets of curious gazes-- well, two. Chellick's expression didn't look curious so much as just punchable.

“Yeah,” Nellus admitted. “Play cards with them every now and again.”

“Don’t suppose a guy by the name of James Vega ever joins in?” Commander Shepard folded her arms across her chest and the corner of her mouth quirked. “He’s ours.”

“He’s a krogan-sized human,” Vakarian offered. “Can’t miss him.”

After getting over the slight, momentary shock that Commander Shepard was addressing _him_ , Nellus replied: “I might’ve seen him, but no. It’s just turians.”

“That’s a relief. I was about to apologize on his behalf.”

“Ah--no. You don’t need to apologize for that.” Wincing at how accusative that sounded, Nellus hastily backpedaled. “Or anything. To me- to anyone!” Desperate to escape from the nosedive this awkward conversation had turned into, he wheeled away from the trio and started toward the aforementioned camps… away from his terminal and his freedom. “I’ll introduce you.”   

“You go on ahead,” he heard Shepard say. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the sight of her hand gently grasp Vakarian’s elbow. “I’m gonna change and head to Huerta. Catch up with you later?”

Vakarian turned into the touch, his mandibles shifting into a playful smirk. He looked exactly like someone who considered fighting Reaper forces as if it were any other workday, but his subvocals betrayed his nerves when he replied: “Sounds good. I’ll meet you at the skycar rental.”

She grinned at her turian companion and her complexion darkened like the throat of some lovesick fledgling. It was a sharp contrast to the Reaper-slaying galactic war hero Nellus had always heard the human to be. “Two hours?”

Vakarian slid his talons down the length of Shepard’s armored forearm, heedless of their audience as he gave her hand a small squeeze. “Don’t be late.”

When Shepard disappeared down the docking tube to head back to the _Normandy_ , Chellick gave voice to the thought both he and Nellus were thinking. “Well, well, Vakarian. I see it’s not just the Primarch you’re bumping crests with these days.”

“Adrien?” Vakarian flicked his mandible, knowing exactly how pretentious he sounded invoking that name. “Nah. Not my type.”

“And humans are?” Chellick snorted and shot a suggestive leer at the younger turian. Nellus had to suppress the urge to groan. “Didn’t know I had that big of an influence on you.”

Vakarian shrugged, his mandibles pulling into an amused smirk before he turned to begin their trek toward the camps. “After all that time I had to spend ‘casing’ Chora’s Den with you, I suppose something had to rub off on me.” Chellick laughed and Vakarian paused, clearly pondering his choice of words. “Ah, that didn’t… _hm._ ”

It dawned on Nellus that he hadn’t heard the sound of Chellick’s laughter in quite some time. With that thought came a sudden flood of shame. He could only imagine how much stress he was under right now. Spirits, he _knew_ how much stress he was under. While he was playing cards with the refugees or just plain hiding out in his apartment, he’d done little to reach out to his oldest friend.

As they neared the camps, Nellus wracked his brain for something to say, some explanation for his absence. He knew now wasn’t exactly the best time to bring it up, but he couldn’t let it go either. At the very least he could mentally rehearse his words for after Vakarian left.

“Why does everyone have thermoses?” Chellick queried. They slowed to take in the encampment as they walked. “Did we issue those?”

“Ah, no.” Nellus rubbed the back of his neck. He was so used to the sight at this point that it hadn’t even occurred to him to mention it to his captain beforehand. “Donations, mostly.”

“Is someone cooking?” Vakarian observed, his nasal plating shifting as he took in the scent in the air.

“Yeah, that’s what…” Nellus trailed off, trying not to wilt under the scrutinizing green stare he suddenly found piercing him. “That’s what the thermoses are for.” Felix’s prefab was currently hosting a growing crowd of hungry-looking turians. Some of the refugees sipped happily from their containers, while others waited to have theirs filled.

“A volunteer?” Chellick's subvocals buzzed with suspicion.

Nellus shook his head, one hand rising to clasp the back of his neck. While he wanted to be truthful about Felix, part of him felt like he needed to protect his friend. “Nah. Just a refugee. I’d introduce you but--” he gestured toward the large crowd gathered outside the prefab. All it would take was a flashing badge to part them, but he doubted Chellick would care enough to bother.

Almost as if he sensed Nellus’ hesitation, Vakarian redirected the conversation. “That guy is pissing in a plant.” He pointed to an old turian that was currently occupied with his back to them.

Nellus suppressed a sigh. “Yeah, Novius’ll do that. Says he’s too old to make it to the restrooms.” Quietly, he doubted that, suspecting the old, cranky turian just wanted an excuse to literally wave his dick around and his advanced age provided him one. “I swear, he’s harmless- Novius!” Nellus shouted to gain the attention of the old turian. Novius glanced over his shoulder, his ancient, watery eyes squinting into a glare as his stream of urine got dangerously close to the edge of the pot. “What did we talk about the other day?”

“Quiet, fledgling. I’m old!”

“And there are kids here!” Nellus scolded, pointing to a nearby group of children who were paying the scene absolutely no mind. “They’re going to be scarred for life for reasons that have nothing to do with the Reapers!”

Novius snarled, his eyes glancing from Nellus, to the fledglings, and back again. Whether it was Nellus’ words-- _‘doubt that’_ \-- or he was just plain finished, Novius fastened his pants and shuffled off- _\- ‘spirits willing’-_ \- back to the cave from which he had crawled out.

For a moment, Vakarian watched the old turian leave, his maxilla shifting into a thoughtful frown. After Novius disappeared into the crowd, his eyes remained glued on the throngs of people that took his place, the pensive visage growing ever more grim as seconds ticked by. “I don’t remember it being so packed.”

“We’re getting hundreds of evacuees every day now,” Nellus explained as they resumed their course and he directed them away from Felix’s prefab. Vakarian only hummed, a distant look shadowing his eyes as he took in the homeless and the destitute.

They walked for the better part of an hour, stopping here and there so that the Primarch’s new advisor could take notes on the situation with his omni-tool. Glancing at Chellick, Nellus caught a sense of pride from his old friend as he watched his former apprentice converse with one of the spokesmen for the camps-- a turian named Tactus. When the time had come for Vakarian to say his goodbyes and wander off-- toward the skycar rentals-- Nellus checked Decian with his elbow.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Nellus inclined his head toward the retreating form of the C-Sec cop-turned-Hierarchy-Advisor.

Decian only chuffed and moved to pass Nellus. The gesture seemed to excuse him for the day, but Chellick hesitated and glanced back. “Thanks for staying late. I needed someone I could count on for this.”

“Happy to be of service.” Nellus inclined his head, perhaps a little facetiously. The captain’s pool of options must have been dismal if the best Chellick could do was him.

Chellick turned to him fully, his face awash with uncertainty for the first time in… Nellus couldn’t remember how long. “This whole-” He made a vague hand gesture as if to summarize the sheer scope of the bloody war that waged on their doorsteps. “-thing. Indoctrination, sleeper agents- it’s terrifying.”

It was. To think that someone you trusted could one day turn on you without even their own knowledge was truly insidious. Looking at his old friend, Nellus tried to picture a day, a universe, in which Decian’s hand would slide toward his sidearm and raise it to Nellus’ face. Perhaps Chellick was imagining the same, looking at him like he was now. Nellus deflected, “Good to know I’m trustworthy. At least I have that going for me.”

“You do.” Chellick’s mandibles pulled into an odd, somewhat melancholy grin. “I think I could tell if you were compromised. Everyone else…” He trailed off and his attention turned to the sea of proverbial timebombs that crowded around them. Smiling, crying, whining, laughing- all the normal patterns seen across all races in some form or another. A slight bark of laughter caught Nellus off guard as Chellick regarded him once again. “Besides, it’s not like you actually _go_ anywhere. I figured the risk was pretty low for you.”

Now who was deflecting?

Decian moved on with a simple ‘See you later, Tragen’ and inwardly, Nellus sighed with relief at seeing the back of his captain turn to him. The quiet hovel of his apartment called his name and how he longed to answer. Then he looked at the stiff set in his friend’s shoulders, the tension in his spine that was coming back after a brief reprieve. Hesitantly, and with the quiet sense that he would certainly regret his actions later, Nellus cleared his throat.

“It’s-uh… been a while since our last drink.” Chellick stopped and Nellus had to ignore the surprised twitch of his friend’s mandibles when he twisted aside to glance back at him. “If you’re not doing anything.”

“Real invitation or are you hoping I’ll say no?”

Nellus definitely hoped that he would say ‘no’, but he knew that a time comes in every person’s life when they need to swallow their desires for solitude and reach out to a friend in need. At least, that’s what he inwardly recited to convince himself that this was a good idea, contrary to what his brain was telling him. With a dramatic sigh, he gave his confirmation. “Real invitation.” Then quickly tacked on a, “I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Bounty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11155917/chapters/24894132) by [Nemi_Almasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemi_Almasy), Chellick's attraction to humans is my permanent head canon for him. Go read it! It's wonderful.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all the lovely feedback! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta readers:  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 

“You’re high if you think I’m going to let you go through my shipment without a warrant!”

It was way too early to endure Pit’s inane sense of immunity when it came to Citadel law. Standing on the landing pad alongside Mya, Nellus was doing his best to hide just how little he cared for dealing with the hulking behemoth. By the look of the curled fists at his partner’s sides, Mya was in agreement.

“We don’t need a warrant to search your cargo.” To her credit, Mya did a fairly admirable job at hiding her deep-seated hatred for the krogan as she spoke. “You know that.”

“You’re allowed to search my cargo _hold,”_ the irate krogan snapped, stressing the last word. It looked like he was about to take a step forward when he noticed the asari’s balled, biotic fists and thought better of it. Pit settled for folding his thick arms across his chest and peeling his upper lip into what was supposed to be a threatening display.

It might have been too if a piece of green... _something_ hadn’t suddenly been revealed, wedged between flat, yellowed teeth.

Shaking himself from the gross wonder that was Pit’s lunch from Spirits knows how long ago, Nellus explained, “The countdown on my youth runs a little bit quicker than that of you and my partner’s so, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this _very legal-”_ Nellus paused to shoot a pointed look at the excessive waste-of-space that lumbered before him. “-search over with before I wither and die out here.”

Mya's lips twisted into an expression that would be impossible for a turian to pull off. As far as Nellus could guess it was smug satisfaction. “I'd say it's the least he can do after not bothering to report his landing,” she said.

That _had_ been annoying. Normally, Nellus would be given the opportunity to mentally prepare before throwing himself into the ring with three-hundred kilos of bad-tempered krogan. Instead, his only warning came from the aggravated asari crackling in his earpiece: _“Why the fuck is Pit bringing his ship in without clearance?!”_

Since then, Nellus’ morning had yet to correct itself from its current nosedive. And as he gazed upon the reappearing smear of green, trapped food every time Pit opened his mouth to breathe, he didn't dare to think it would start now.

Pit snarled and red, watery eyes narrowed on his two opposers. “This place is a damn joke. I _asked_ for clearance, but I couldn't get anyone on the fucking channel.”

Odd, given that _someone_ is posted for the comm link at all times, if not for cargo ships then for emergency landings. Nellus turned to regard Mya. “Did you ever try to raise them?”

“Yeah,” she replied, tilting her head to direct a sideways glance up at Nellus. “I did the second I saw his ship touchdown because no one had notified me he was coming.”

“And no one picked up?” Nellus’ vocals pitched with a sudden sense of unease and his mandibles tensed against his jaw.

“Nope.” She shifted her weight to the pillar of her right thigh and shot Pit a scathing glare. “But that's no excuse. You _wait_ for clearance.”

The krogan was quick to raise his defenses, but Nellus had stopped listening. With his omni-tool active, he put a call into traffic control, his eyes narrowing on the interface as he waited… and waited. After a whole minute slogged by, his suspicions mounted with each passing second. He turned his attention onto his partner. “The Captain should be in his office. Go find him. Tell him what happened.”

Mya's eyes widened. “What? Why don't I just call him?”

“In case our comms are compromised. Go to him in person. He needs to know.” After a brief moment of hesitation, in which Mya glanced between himself and Pit, Nellus mustered a firm, “ _Now_.” And she was gone.

“What the fuck is going on?” Pit gave voice to the question at the forefront of Nellus’ mind, but he ignored the query and wheeled on him.

“Did you hear _anything_ when you called? Background chatter? Doors opening? Something unusual.”

Pit just blinked stupidly. “I don't know. Maybe?”

Nellus resisted the urge to slap him if only to make himself feel better. “ _Think!_ ”

Whatever Pit was about to say was cut off by a loud bang and a sharp gasp. Pit’s eyes grew larger than Nellus had ever seen from the krogan. Staring into pools of crimson, an array of confusion and pain rose from the depths to meet him. In the silence that followed all that could be heard was the intermittent _drip-drip_ of orange blood splattering on the landing pad. Then the krogan swayed... and dropped.

Even going years without hearing a gunshot outside of the range, Nellus knew what that sound was the second it registered in his brain, clicking into place like the heatsink that fired it-- likely from a modified heavy pistol. Dread filled him as fast as training kicked in.

The next thing Nellus knew, he was huddled on the ground in a growing puddle of orange blood, his cowl pressing up against the great heap Pit made, pistol in hand. Despite his advice to Mya, his mouth was at his omni-tool, shouting a warning to anyone who could listen. Though, his words would likely be drowned out by the sound of sirens as C-sec vehicles sped by overhead.

Unidentified Kodiaks rained down from the atmosphere with mercs lined up along their opened hatches. Secured by what looked like high-end mag boots, they were free to fire indiscriminately down on the civilians below. Gunfire and bombs erupted around him, piercing through the Citadel's frozen complacency to leave it a ruined, bloody mess on the tarmac.

With his shields still untouched, Nellus had a couple options. His closest shelter would be inside Pit’s cargo hold. It would be a short sprint, but one that would leave him wide open and unprotected as he made his ascent up the ramp. Nellus chanced a glance over Pit’s shoulder to quickly measure the distance. He could make it, he was sure, then take control of the ships targeting systems and start shooting down the unauthorized shuttles flying in. With luck, Pit would have left the rest of the ship open from the cargo hold or, at the very least, it would be password protected with a code like 1-2-3-4.

 _‘Would he be that dense?’_ Nellus looked sidelong at the krogan’s slackened face before ducking down to run through his cracking programs. He could probably hack through the door, but it would take a minute or two and with nowhere to run he could be followed and cornered in the interim. It might still be his best bet if he hurried-

Gunshots cut through his train of thought, bringing his eyes up to the viewport of docking bay D-24. The windows were tinted, making outside visibility impossible, but the sounds from inside were all he needed to know what was going on up there. Nellus’ body had shifted unconsciously, preparing his digitigrade feet for take-off before he even realized that his mind was made up. He was about to sprint when a watery cough from behind caught his attention.

Despite the alarming amount of blood pooling around them, Pit was still alive. Apparently, a single gunshot wasn’t enough to take him down. The krogan’s regenerative abilities were kicking in.

_‘Must be nice.’_

“D-don’t leave me out here!” Pit sputtered and Nellus jerked back from a thick, flailing limb lest his fringe gets snapped off.

If he was going to throw himself head-on towards the firefight-- he hesitated only briefly on that thought-- the time was now. He was already half-crouched, he could be across the tarmac before the krogan’s voice reached him again. Nellus looked away from his living barricade, his eyes catching flash grenades behind the darkened glass of the viewport.

“Please!”

Nellus cringed at both the pitiful voice and his own weak, crumbling resolve. _‘Fuck,’_ he quietly thought. Whipping around, he holstered his gun and snatched Pit’s thrashing arm out of the air to drape it over the back of his cowl. He then began the arduous process of hauling the immense lump of whimpering krogan off the landing pad.

 _“Fuuck!”_ Nellus loudly hissed through clenched teeth, his mandibles quivering under the strain he had stupidly decided to put himself through. It was somewhere around the threshold of his back’s breaking-point that Pit graciously decided to chip in his support.

A car crash was how Nellus thought he’d go, maybe a gunshot wound from an irate batarian smuggler he’d push too far, but not like this-- not crushed underneath the weight of a krogan-- because that’s how it was looking. They were sitting pyjacks. What was supposed to be a quick sprint regressed to a lumbering slog. Nellus only hoped it’d be a headshot that would do it, dead before hitting the ground, rather than left to suffocate from a collapsed lung under three-hundred kilos of wailing krogan. With luck, it would be Chellick to find him. At least then his friend would move his body into a more dignified position for people to find. He was sure that was one law-- of many-- Chellick would be willing to bend-- especially for him.

Halfway across the landing pad, they encountered their first problem. Nellus had just enough time to register a flash of steel-- _a blade, maybe_ \-- before he could attempt to go for his gun. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one. He heard the most undignified, surprised screech of his life before the blade was caught in the iron grasp of a huge fist.

Nellus would have laughed if death wasn’t currently staring him in the face. A sentiment their foe would quickly share when they tried to wrench their sword from Pit. The next few seconds passed in a white, black, and yellow blur as their attacker was grabbed, slammed into the ground, and then flung across the tarmac like an undesired toy in the hands of a toddler.

“Good work, Pi-- _ah_ !” Nellus faltered under the collapsing bulk of his charge. “You’re… too… _heavy_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pit rumbled but made an effort all the same to collect himself. “Tired.”

“Blood loss will do that,” Nellus acknowledged, shifting the krogan’s weight to get a better hold. That’s when an idea popped into his head. Nellus hunched down and slid underneath the slag of meat that leaned on him.

“What are you doing?” Pit asked with blatant suspicion.

“Nothing,” he lied. “Just walk.”

They managed several paces before Pit piped up again. Spirits, he almost _heard_ the puzzle pieces click into place inside his massive head. “You’re not trying to help me,” he growled, though made no move to pull away. He’d probably collapse if he tried. “You’re using me as a shield!”

“You have two hearts!” Nellus countered without removing his eyes from his target. “I only have one. You’ll be fine.”

“Not if they get me in the head!” Pit bellowed.

“Then move.”

“What kind of cop are you?!”

An easy question. “I never claimed to be a good one.”

“I’m just a freighter captain!” Pit protested. “Not a merc! Why don’t we just go back to my ship? It’s closer!”

Because D-24 was where Nellus needed to be. Because that’s where the refugees were being fired upon. The Posnions and their children, Baeria and Nimian, old and feeble Novius. Felix.

“I can leave you here if you’d prefer.” He lilted-- well, tried to. The burden of the weight on his back was making breathing a task in of itself. “I’m sure your wound’ll--” Nellus grunted and adjusted his grip. “--regenerate before you receive a killing blow. Maybe you’ll make it back to the ship in time.”

Glumly accepting his role, Pit did not have another retort. The pair spoke no more as they hobbled across the open space, sparing a brief glance at their broken attacker as they passed. The awkward shape the body had taken on made it a little difficult to identify them as human, clad in a black and white stealth suit with yellow trim and a face hidden behind an ominous black mask with-- _for some reason--_ four red eyes.

Emblazoned on the pauldron was the yellow, bracketed hexagon of Cerberus.

Nellus didn’t have time to dwell on the implications of a human terrorist group attacking the Citadel. Or where they acquired the inane thought to even attempt it, for that matter. Instead, he pushed on towards the ramp that would take them up to the docking bay.

A scene of chaos met them at the top.

Distant screams overlaid the wail of sirens, peaking and fading in between the low bass rattle of explosions. Smoke drifted from the worst of the damage, making a grey haze that unfurled over the docks. People of all species raced by in their frantic search for shelter. Gunfire of more calibers than could be easily identified created an echoing cacophony off the station's metal walls. Though it was all sights and sounds Nellus had heard before, experiencing it here, in a place of refuge, was deeply unsettling.

The Citadel had become a Spirits-damned warzone.

With some effort, he fought through the numbness that threatened to take hold and shifted his weight to unholster his Carnifex. The heft provided by the unused clip instilled some minuscule sense of relief, but using it would be near impossible while hauling a krogan around like a pack animal. If they were to survive, Pit had to go, but where to store three-hundred kilos of angry muscle where he couldn’t get himself into trouble or-- _Spirits forbid_ \-- break something important.

_‘The holding cells might do the trick.’_

Thinking quickly, Nellus’ feet were moving toward his desk, a simple task made difficult by the chaos around them. Twice he was knocked off-kilter, almost meeting the ground, while frantic civilians pushed and shoved passed. Bullets flew by and Pit groaned as several more slammed into him, but cover was sparse and they were already in the open, committed to their goal.

Gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to shut his eyes against the sting, Nellus pushed through a black cloud of smoke, obscuring themselves from their attackers. At least he hoped it would, considering how his desk had completely disappeared from his line of sight behind a hazy screen. Screams continued to echo in his aural canals and somehow Pit felt heavier than ever, gurgled grunting being the only indication he was still alive.

“Almost there!” Not even Nellus could be sure who, of the two of them, he was trying to assuage. Still, he kept going, and when his destination at last revealed itself, he breathed a sigh of relief-- he instantly regretted the action as his lungs expelled noxious, invasive fumes.

Disinclined to holster his weapon, Nellus shored up against Pit’s weight and released the steadying grip he held on the krogan’s arm, freeing his hand to flip a switch underneath his desk. A hatch in the floor behind his chair cycled open, revealing a short ramp that led to three reasonably large holding cells.

Vibrations rumbled up from the floor and Nellus dropped behind his desk as a bomb went off nearby. Shrapnel and debris pinged against the outer shell of his curved workstation, but it thankfully held against the blast.

“Always wanted to lock you up, Pit,” he grumbled, carefully scooting along the floor and down the ramp. He selected the middle cell and trudged inside. “Who knew today would be the day?”

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” The krogan asked in disbelief but didn’t resist as Nellus maneuvered him into the cell. Despite his attempt at lowering his charge carefully, Pit crumpled to the floor like cumbersome luggage.

Raising his omni-tool, Nellus took a moment to activate the mass effect field behind them, finally affording freedom to straighten his back. He groaned at the soreness he felt. After a round of satisfying pops and cracks beneath his cowl, he was about to answer when a garbled voice, filtered through a comm system, caught his attention.

_“I saw her run this way!”_

_“Oh, Doctooor?”_ A second Cerberus trooper sing-sung through the vents of a helmet. _“I got something here for you to look at.”_

The barrier parted readily as Nellus passed through it, recognizing the serial number of his omni-tool. He hurried up the ramp and peered over his desk. Across the way, his eyes fell on a red-headed human crouched down with an old, withered-looking turian.

Nellus squinted through the smoke. _‘Novius?’_

They were sitting pyjaks. And the Cerberus trooper steadily approaching their weak, fiberglass fortifications knew it. For a moment, he was back on war-torn Taetrus. Separatists and Hierarchy soldiers alike shooting in the streets as civilians huddled where they could. Children in their parents’ arms, their bodies bent over them like protective cocoons.

From behind his desk, Nellus raised his Carnifex and fired at the trooper’s head. Shields flickered at the impact, and as the merc turned a helmeted gaze to face him, raising a weapon in the same motion, Nellus shattered the visor with a second shot.

Mentally tallying the remaining rounds in his clip _\-- four of six--_ he sprinted around his station, pelted through another cloud of smoke, and vaulted over the back of the chairs. Upon landing in a crouch before Novius and the woman, her green eyes shot up to meet his gaze, her pale face framed by a curtain of short, copper tresses. Doctor Chloe Michel, his brain clicked.

She was well-known not only by the general Citadel populace but in C-sec specifically as a valuable informer. Granted, her activity with them had slowed ever since she found herself caught between Vakarian’s pistol and Fist’s men. Chellick’s influence-- he didn’t want to endanger the good doctor more than they already had. Though Nellus suspected his motivations might run a little more personal than that.

She crouched beside the old, ailing turian, allowing him to lean against her as they hid from their attackers.

C-Sec protocol said he should introduce himself, but there was no time for formalities. His black and blue armor would have to speak for him. He pressed a talon to his maw, indicating for silence. Novius took one look at the warning and, like the plant from the other day, chose to piss all over it.

“Tragen?” Nellus would have glared if the tone used behind the name hadn’t sounded so feeble, so tired.

Dr. Michel rubbed a reassuring hand along the old turian’s cowl, quietly shushing him like a child. Nellus couldn’t help but look away, absurdly thankful that armed mercs, aiming to kill them, were there to provide an excuse to do so.

The coast was anything but clear, yet he knew it likely wouldn’t be for some time. Their best option was to use the smoke as cover and hurry across the walkway to the safety of the cells. Though, from the way Novius trembled on the floor, they wouldn’t be moving very quickly.

A distraction would be helpful.

Nellus turned his attention to Dr. Michel. “When I say ‘go’ run across the walkway to my desk. You’ll see a ramp that leads beneath the tile.” Nellus raised his omni-tool, transferring the code for the mass effect barrier to hers. Highly illegal, but desperate times and all that. C-Sec could always change the code later. “You’ll be safe down there.”

The human blinked at him, uncertain. “They will see us.”

“Not if you move quickly.” Nellus jerked his head to the old man, quietly braced against the human. “Can you manage him?”

“I- I think so,” she replied, turning a fearful but tender gaze to her charge. “Can you stand, Mr. Romuldos?”

The old turian didn’t answer. Instead, he shot Nellus a critical look. Fucking stubborn as always. Meeting his gaze, Nellus hissed: “Would you rather take your chances here?”

“I can stand,” he finally answered, his voice growling under the strain of his old age.

“Alright, then.” Nellus shifted his weight, his omni still glowing brightly on his wrist. “Go!” he urged in a hushed whisper.

“Don’t die.” Two words spoken from ancient dual-vocals nearly short-circuited Nellus’ brain.

Pushing through the shock, refusing to tear his eyes from his target, he snarled: _“Go!”_

They went. Despite his age, Novius must have dredged up the young soldier that still resided somewhere within that withered body. He shot up to his feet, joints creaking over the sound of distant gunfire, and they scrambled over the backs of the chairs and cut through the smoke cloud.

Before they managed to clear the hurdle, Nellus had already brought himself just above the top of his pitiful cover and fired an incinerate from his omni-tool at the closet trooper, igniting his armor in a blistering, human-shaped fire. Arms flailed and a distorted voice shrieked while his cohorts did nothing to assist him. Instead, they focused their fire on where the attack had come from.

Nellus’ shields flickered in response to stray rounds punching through the fiberglass seats to bite at his armor. His heart hammered behind his keel and memories of battlefields flickered behind his eyes. Combat was something he hadn’t experienced in years, but as it turned out, it was like slipping on a pair of well-worn gauntlets.

The experience, it would seem, had never left him.

He returned fire when he could, nailing two opponents, but they were closing in on him now. He no longer had time to consider whether or not his charges had made it because now he was beginning to wonder if _he_ would. The thought occurred to make another attempt to radio for backup, but he doubted the message would get through.

Glancing at his omni-tool, alight on his arm, he decided against even trying. It wouldn’t matter.

Nellus expelled his second exhausted heatsink and slammed in a new one. Then, gritting his teeth, and ignoring a lingering thought of a smiling green eye, he leaned out from cover, pistol raised-

And watched as a blood-raged krogan went barreling into the remaining mercs with a deafening roar. Humans and krogan alike went scattering to the durasteel floor like thrown poker chips.

_‘Pit!’_

Nellus launched himself from cover, his feet scrambling for purchase as he sprinted towards the fray of stricken aliens while they struggled to climb to their feet- the krogan slowest of all. Before the humans could retaliate, he shot them, one by one at close range, punching clean through their shields.

Leaving his foes in a pool of red blood, Nellus hurried to Pit’s side but stopped at seeing a meaty, three-fingered hand held up. “W… wait,” the krogan rasped. “D-don’t... come near... me yet.”

Nellus was sure he would have felt touched by Pit’s warning if circumstances were different and they currently weren’t sitting out in the open. However, as it was…

“Cut the dramatics, Pit.” Nellus stepped closer. “We have to go. Now.”

From the side of his head, the krogan eyed him with one _\-- very dilated--_ slit pupil and his breaths shuddered out of him in trembling snarls. Then his lids slid closed, just for a moment, and after a quivering exhale, his eye reopened, normal again. Pit lowered his hand.

“Thanks,” said Nellus before re-saddling himself under the cumbersome mass once again. He only felt the weight of the krogan’s head nod weakly in return.

Hurrying back to the cells, he found Dr. Michel and Novius safely inside. They must have opened the barrier with the code Nellus had given them, releasing the krogan inside. Having seen what blood rage can do, Nellus chose to leave Pit in his own space.

“You’ll be safe here behind the barrier,” he explained to them, pressing his three-fingered hand to the print scanner and reactivating the mass effect field. He then pulled up his omni-tool and placed a call into Commander Bailey. While waiting for the comm to connect, he said: “I’ll be back when this is over.”

“You are leaving?” Dr. Michel asked, taking a tentative step toward the protective barrier. The concern was genuine, but there was another worry underlying the question. _What happens to us if you don’t come back?_

Nellus paused, his gaze remaining on the holo-interface of his omni-tool. The comm rang on with the other end failing to reciprocate. That wasn’t good. “You have the code to get out. Short of that, I’m sure someone will come back for you. I suggest waiting until they do. And, Doctor if more survivors come down here-”

“I will see to them.” She nodded. “Thank you.”  

Nellus left without another look back.

Rounding the desk, he knew what his next move should be; he had to find either Chellick or Commander Bailey. He was all but useless here on his own. In fact, it would be _expected_ for him to make his way to HQ, he told himself as he turned away from the lifts that would take him there. Finding his superiors was the obvious next step, he mentally recited despite his feet taking him toward the refugee camps located in the complete opposite direction.

There was only one destination in mind and he ran toward it as fast as his legs could carry him, bobbing and weaving around prefabs and crates as he went. Through his adrenaline, he hardly felt the protest of his sore back every time it pressed against metal or the way his thighs were beginning to tremble from exertion. Old training hid all the aches and pains and kept his mind focused on how many shots he had left, distances to run and slide into cover, and how strong the enemy shields were.

It was after his fifth kill-- _one shot left and six heatsinks in reserve_ \-- that the coast was clear enough for him to make one more dash. Leaning out from his shelter-- a rusty, metal storage crate-- to double check his surroundings, his eyes caught the movement of black and white armor, a yellow insignia on the pauldron-- two soldiers marching along the walls of the prefabs, close to Felix’s home.

Too close.

And then a male turian moved up behind the human that wielded a colossal shield, stepping gracefully despite the hindrance of a prosthetic foot. In one fluid motion, his taloned hands closed around the helmet and with a sharp twist, the man dropped before he’d even registered his attacker. On the way down, the shield transferred cooly from the hand of its owner into the possession of its new one, as if the action was voluntary.

It was in the next second Nellus’ brain registered the identity of the turian: Felix. He was a Hierarchy soldier, Nellus knew that, but that was easy enough to forget after so many days watching the man do almost nothing except the mundane task of _cooking_.

 _Felix_ \-- who smiled a lopsided grin when little Apter would ask him some inane question-- wore an impassive face as he met the veiled gaze of the second human that turned to face him.

 _Felix_ \-- who handed homeless people trays of hot food-- slammed his newly-acquired shield into his target’s head, sending his helmet flying, revealing a monstrosity of what could have been a human once. Gray, mottled skin and white, electric eyes scrunched at his opposer. If Felix was taken aback by the sight, no part of his enigmatic face betrayed it.

 _Felix--_ who would bashfully wave off Octalio’s advances-- stepped in _close_ to tower over the merc, bringing himself well within arms reach. In a well-practiced move, Felix uppercut his foe’s rifle and sent it flying straight up in the air.

 _Felix_ \-- who was probably the gentlest person Nellus had ever met-- didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to swipe his talons across exposed throat when the trooper looked up in search for his missing weapon, rendering the jugular a spurting red fountain through three open slats.

 _Felix_ \-- who could explain the use of every knife and the nuances of every spice-- deftly caught the falling rifle with one hand as the weapon came back down, his fingers settling over the grip as comfortably as a stew ladle.

Nellus wasn't sure how long his maw was left hanging agape or when he had even opened it. Closing it with a click, he sprinted the rest of the way to his friend.

“ _Spirits_ , Felix!”

A lone green eye snapped in his direction, a burning intensity contained behind the visage of an otherwise passive mask. It was almost enough to stop Nellus in his tracks, but the rage cooled once it swept across the black and blue of his armor and settled on his face.

Pushing past a sudden surge of nerves, Nellus tried for humor. “You cook _and_ you can fight?” He made a point to take in the sheer carnage Felix had left-- the twisted angle of a snapped neck, a puddle of crimson pooling on the steel floor--  lingering for a beat longer on the red stain soaking the front of Felix's shirt and his new rifle-shaped trophy that he still held aloft. “A man after my own heart.”

The intensity of a battle-hardened soldier waned in the wake of a familiar crooked smile. Nellus found himself glad to see it.

“Did I just hear the sound of your plates opening?”

Nellus huffed a laugh and found himself fighting the urge to look away from that green eye, pinched slightly at the corner with what could only be amusement. It was a joke, he knew, but a part of his brain lingered on the quip.

Once he privately ascertained that, yes, his plates were still very much closed, Nellus forged ahead for a more appropriate C-Sec persona. Wouldn’t Chellick be proud?

“Cerberus is attacking the Citadel,” he informed, strategically shifting his weight back a step, furthering the distance between himself and his friend. “I'm trying to get in contact with Captain Bailey, but no luck. Where’re you headed?”

Without missing a beat, Felix answered expectantly, “The Posnions' prefab. I need to make sure they're all right.”

Nellus nodded. “Figured you'd go there.”

Then Felix surprised him as he twisted to face him fully. “Come with me,” he bid, gesturing with the awarded shield he still wielded. “It's too dangerous for you to try and get to your captain on your own and you and I can get more weapons to arm the refugees. Together, we can rally them.”

Nellus couldn’t be sure if it was the words that caused his brain to have to reboot, or if it was the sheer amount of conviction used behind them that did it. He would have laughed if not for the seriousness of Felix’s face. “‘Rally the refugees?’”

“Why not?”

Spirits, he was serious. “They're refugees.”

“They're turian.” Felix’s reply came with the ease of a simple fact. It was as natural and absolute as a mathematical equation.

Nellus opened his mouth to respond, but when no words came to him he shut it again. “Point taken,” he conceded. “Lead the way.”

Chellick was going to kill him.

 

* * *

 

 

Between himself, Felix, and Kaius they liberated enough weapons from one of C-Sec’s armories to place in the hands of the turian evacuees. Many were veterans or injured soldiers trained in firearms.

As Nellus settled behind a short bulwark fastened together with slabs of warped metal and durasteel shipping crates, his assault rifle resting against his shoulder and Felix crouched beside him, he was ready to go to war. After the rousing speech the younger turian gave, he wasn’t the only one.

The small flame of the unassuming candle smoldering at the heart of the camp had grown, brightened, burned like a raging brush fire. Talons and teeth of those sworn to fight for it were the flames that licked at the hide and the armor of its enemies.

_“We are the galaxy's peacekeepers!”_

Nellus watched quietly as people had cheered around him.

 _“And we will_ not _let Cerberus succeed!”_

A crowd had long since gathered, their war cries deafening and drawing the attention Felix wanted from the enemy.  

_“Now let's show those bastards what we're made of!”_

Felix immediately took control of the field. His voice boomed orders and ex-soldiers moved to execute them. It was like he was born to be a leader, the skill as natural to him as breathing. Even Nellus found himself swept up, ready to charge into the depths of hell if ordered.

As a Cerberus heavy hit the ground, his shield falling from his hand, Felix dropped behind cover to reload his gun with a fresh clip. “Hope you don’t get in too much trouble for this,” he confessed.

While Felix reloaded, Nellus dipped out and his rifle unleashed a staccato that fell two more mercs. Returning, he replied: “Oh, I will. I’d say it’s worth it though.”

Felix smiled, a quick flick of his mandible, before he raised himself to fire at three more troopers. His aim had been off at first, but as he adjusted to shooting with one eye, he had improved dramatically. Dropping back behind cover to reload, he continued, “Thank you.”

Nellus shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t supporting the butt of the rifle. “What can I say? I’m a people pleaser.”

A jocular smirk preluded Felix’s snipe, “That’s what’s written on the bathroom stalls.”  

Warzones were no place for laughter, but Nellus couldn’t help it. Ducked behind the relative safety of their barricade, he allowed himself to indulge, not minding one bit if it was the last thing he ever did. To Felix’s credit, he kept his own to a quiet chuckle, but his mandible quirked, pleased with himself as he leaned out from cover again. Nellus watched him, grinning.

Spirits, when had he grown so fond of him?

The two continued to work in tandem, one firing while the other reloaded. Nellus couldn’t imagine where Cerberus had found these… men? If they could be called that anymore. He was somewhat thankful that their helmets obscured the horror that their faces had become. The lack of military training showed in the way their opponents fought.

It was like the bulk of their training had been conducted with simulations or, at best, from only a handful of Alliance-turned-Cerberus officers. Regardless of the experience of their trainers, they were no match against a turian militia, even a modest, motley one such as theirs.

Each evacuee that fought under Felix had spent their whole life raised and groomed by military doctrine. Even a Hierarchy accountant knew how to clean and reload a shotgun. Cerberus mercs were ruthless, and they attacked with the best weapons and armor credits could buy, but that would never be enough against a turian unit, especially one with something to fight for-- to protect. And as the enemy slowly thinned out, their numbers dwindling with every clean headshot and well-executed attack, that fact became more transparent with each passing moment.

Felix slammed a new clip in his gun and leaned out from cover to take aim. In two and a half seconds he’d come back to reload his gun and it would be Nellus’ turn to fire. It was an easy routine that the two picked up quickly. As he’d done countless times during the fight, Nellus reloaded and readied himself, waiting to feel Felix’s warmth return to his side as his signal-- but it never happened.

Tearing his eyes from the idle rifle in his hands, he found Felix frozen in place, staring off into the distance. Nellus followed his friend’s gaze. White helmets exploded in a spray of red pulp. A grim, but not an unwelcome introduction that heralded a familiar shock of red hair and matte black armor, an N7 symbol emblazoned proudly upon her chest.

_Commander Shepard._

She moved like a soldier on a mission, wielding a large, cumbersome Widow as if it were an extension of her own arm. Behind her, a quarian and Vakarian followed closely, his own turian-modified Widow supported lovingly against his pauldron.

_‘Some things never change.’_

Within mere seconds, Shepard’s team flanked the enemy, quickly picking off stragglers before they could take cover. Yet, in what must have been a last, defiant act in the face of death, Nellus caught sight of a grenade that was lobbed through the air, straight for their blockade. Instinct kicked in and he ducked down, but Felix was still motionless. Was he not paying attention?

_‘Shit!’_

Later, once the fighting died, Nellus would be able to remember the way he launched himself at his friend. At the moment, he moved too quickly to comprehend what he was doing or that the resultant explosion had temporarily deafened him when it hit the other side of their bulwark. His aural canals rang, rendering him unsure of what he said, but he was reasonably certain that it was something along the lines of: “What the _fuck_ , Felix?”

From below him, Felix met his gaze, his single eye blinking in confusion brought on by the blast.

“Sorry.” Felix’s disconcerted tone sapped any rage Nellus could have felt towards him. With his remaining mandible clamped against his jaw and his eye pinched with worry, he looked lost.

“You okay?” Nellus asked, suddenly remembering their close proximity and that he should probably get off him now. Ignoring the hammering of his adrenaline-infused heart, he settled back against the barricade. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Felix sat up and glanced briefly in the direction Shepard and her team had disappeared in. “Yeah,” he affirmed. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you, everyone, for coming back to read. And man, those kudos and comments mean so much to me. Ah! 
> 
> We've now concluded the Cerberus coup and you know what that means? You-know-who finally shows up on the Citadel! _But_ , before Nellus meets her, expect a small NSFW section at the beginning of chapter 5. I'll leave an additional warning for sexual content at the start of the chapter and how to skip it, for those who want to. 
> 
> See you all next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimers:**  
>  **1) My wonderful betas throughout this story:**  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
>  **2) Sexual Content Warning:** Sexual content in the beginning of this chapter. If you prefer to skip it, I suggest reading down to _'When he had first stepped into the shower, effused with a sense of being ancient'_ and then pick back up again at the first chapter break. :)  
>  **3) Violent Content Warning:** There is mention of a suicide later in the chapter.

_“The time is 0615. Your shift begins in seventy-five minutes.”_

Despite the abrasive vibrations from his clip-on alarm clock sending unpleasant shocks along the rim of his cowl, Nellus’ eyes barely managed to crack open at the intrusion. It was a decision he’d come to regret instantly as it allowed him to register the immense pain he felt… _everywhere_ . His legs ached from all the squatting he did while trying not to get shot, his shoulders protested the hammering they endured from his rifle, and his back… _Spirits_ his back felt like someone had shoved blades clean through his carapace and into the muscle.

 _“The time is 0616. Your shift begins in seventy-four minutes,”_ his oh-so-helpful VI continued to remind him, ad nauseum.

Deciding that he would rather lay paralyzed in bed than try to coax any activity from his body, his eyes slid closed while his fingers made a failing attempt at the irritating -albeit highly effective- device attached to him. Nellus managed to bump the clasp on the third try, but it didn’t budge. Instead, his talons rattled down the plating and slid across his shoulder. Dragging his hand back, he clumsily smacked himself in the face as it passed.

He may as well have exchanged his arms for a pair of klixen pedipalps for all the good his own limbs were doing him.

 _“The time is 0617. Your shift begins in seventy-three minutes.”_ With a grunt of effort, his talons found the vexing piece of plastic and flung it away from him. It thumped to the floor and continued to buzz dutifully about a meter from where it was thrown. He shot a venomous sneer at his foe. Or, he hoped he had. But considering how well the rest of him was responding to his commands, Nellus assumed he’d just made a vaguely disgruntled look at the thing.

_“The time is 0618. Your shift begins in seventy-two minutes.”_

After the chaos of yesterday, a sick day sounded euphoric. Along with the rest of Citadel Security, he had stayed at work well into the night cycle, taking inventory of the weapons used by the refugees and cleaning up bodies to be hauled to the morgue before the keepers could get to them. And with one dead Councilor in the wake of the Citadel’s shattered illusion of safety, there wasn’t time for sick days anymore. The Reapers certainly weren’t taking any.

Chellick depended on him to show up to work so as much as he wanted to roll over and embrace unconsciousness, the pull of his vexing morals and miserable compunction chased away his pipe dream. With an exaggerated keen for the loss of sleep and his warm covers, knowing the time had come to say goodbye, Nellus sat up.

Gingerly, he dragged himself up from the bed one tender movement at a time-- in a pique, he managed to bite through his pain and kick his alarm clock into the wall, where it bounced with a thud and fell silent. Sweet relief. Hopefully it wasn't broken so he wouldn't have to buy another one. Tired feet shuffled onto the cold bathroom tile, where he glowered at the mirror and worked on gathering the energy to begin his day-by-day routine.

Spirits, but he’d looked better.

Exhausted, he managed to get himself moving after several moments, albeit at about half efficiency. After relieving himself and stepping into the shower, his hand clumsily pawed at the controls until marvelously hot water came raining down on him, pooling in his ocular plating and streaming around his pointed teeth.

His eyes slid closed again, leaving him teetering on the precipice of sleep as steam filled his nasal cavity and heat soaked in through his plates down to his muscles. The talons on his toes gripped the grainy shower floor as he slumped bodily against the warm tiled wall.

When he had first stepped into the shower, effused with a sense of being ancient and tired, he had simply expected to relax. He didn't think he had the energy for anything more. But as his muscles were soothed by blissful, permeating heat, and he leaned against the unyielding tile that was so reminiscent of the warm plates of a lover, he found his hand drifting habitually downward.

With eyes shut, Nellus willed away his current white-tiled surroundings and the oppressive day ahead of him. He instead focused on the sensation the pad of his finger provided while it worked to encourage his plates open. In his mind, it was someone else's taloned hand that danced along the thin hide of his waist, drawing lines that sent blood straight to his groin.

Pelvic plates parted readily after that, revealing the soft, dampened seam they protected. As his finger carefully dipped inside, his other hand quested upwards beyond his waist, over his keel, and into his cowl. His claws bit into the sensitive skin that lined it, a fair simulation of sharp teeth nipping him there, teasing, testing his patience while his phantom partner smiled.  The minor scales on his knuckles were instead mandibles, brushing Nellus’ throat as his imagined companion emitted an amused chuckle at his responsiveness.

The flange was rich, a more masculine-sounding voice than what normally echoed in his fantasies. Granted, his experience with other turian men was rather limited. The interest was there, but it was usually the women of his species that caught his eye. Though... this wasn't exactly an unwelcome change.

A shift of tension between his hips warned him, but Nellus still sucked in a lungful of air as he finally everted, heavy and thick in his hand. Practiced fingers wrapped around the base and were just beginning their first drag to the tip when the personage of his reverie murmured lust-ridden words into his neck.

_“How long have you wanted this?”_

Nellus’ eyes snapped open, heart pounding behind his keel. Then his long crest scratched against the wall as his head tipped back, a frustrated groan pulled from his throat as he slowed in touching himself.

He _knew_ that voice.

Honestly he would know it anywhere, and he cursed his useless brain for choosing _that one particular_ voice while in a sex-hazed state. As if to protest the hesitation caused by higher thinking, his cock throbbed urgently from neglect. He couldn’t resist running a thumb along the nerves near the tip; just a small movement to ease the pressure while he strived to think of someone else.

He thought of sharp talons pricking his neck and he reveled in the sensation his own sub-vocals provided when he groaned, echoing around the small chamber. A skillful, three-fingered hand picked up right where it was interrupted, beginning a slow, methodical pumping motion up and down his slick length, stopping every now and again to squeeze the base.

“Fuck,” he allowed himself to moan, turning to press his back against the wall so he could imagine it was someone warm against him.

 _“Is this a new thing?”_ the visitor asked, his voice wicked as it whispered into his ear, but there was still a sense of the turian he knew behind it. A good-natured lilt in his tone.

This time Nellus couldn’t bring himself to pause. He did, inanely, try for an answer, his voice wavering in pitch between shocks of pleasure that pulsed up his spine like electricity. “I don't… know.”

 _“Sure about that?”_ His subconscious partner didn't believe him, not even acknowledging the lubberly facade. _“Maybe it was yesterday, seeing_ that _side of me. Taking charge, shouting orders… covered in the blood of our enemies. That’s kind of a weird kink, you know.”_

Nellus wanted to laugh, but the grip on his shaft tightened and nearly brought him to his knees. _“Maybe you wanted me to shove you up against that bulwark?”_

He whimpered. No, no he didn’t. He absolutely did not. Spirits, he could do nothing but hold faith in the wall’s integrity, because otherwise he’d have to come up with something real damn creative to tell the landlord. Currently, said wall was supporting more weight than his own feet while he helplessly fucked his fist.

 _“Or perhaps the other way around? You would like that, Nellus. Wouldn't you?”_ It wasn't really a question, and he barely restrained giving an answer.

 _“Or maybe it was when you were on top of me yesterday, when I froze up? Thanks for that, by the way.”_ A sinful purr, a faux lave of a tongue delivered by running the length of his own finger along his neck, under his jawline, and behind the flare of his mandible. _“You were so close you could smell me. You’re remembering it now.”_

Blood, sweat, adrenaline, cooking spices, and something else so distinctly _him_ had all hit him at once. That sea-green eye that shifted with the light like an ocean before a storm, both in color and the frisson it instilled in him.

 _“You are,”_ his partner observed with amusement before nuzzling against Nellus’ aural canal and swore, the word whispered in Invictan common. Phrases he’d use flippantly whenever a splatter of oil burned still-healing scar tissue.

White began to gather at the edge of his vision as the voice paused, as if to consider more words with which to torment him. Talons slid up the back of Nellus’ neck and his head dropped forward in uncontrolled invitation, fingers in search of that spot under his fringe. Spirits, he was so damn close.

 _“Humor me_ ,” he said. _“How long have you wanted to call my name out as you came?”_

“Fuck!”  was the only intelligible reply he could manage.

The phantom turian laughed. _“Well that's not it. C'mon, you know it.”_ And then, an order, delivered simultaneously with the gentle dig of talons beneath his fringe: _“Say it.”_

Nellus was lost to his own senses, opening his mouth to follow the order but only managed nonsensical whimpering. Still, he was rewarded with another whispered Invictan word, this time with his own name tacked on at the end.

 _“_ Felix! _”_ The name tore from him, stealing all the air from his lungs. The release that came with it was maddening, seizing his senses at the peak and leaving him to free fall through a bliss that was too intense for words. He was blindsided, his body trembling and weak from shock. In the haze of euphoria, he was momentarily freed from the crippling pain that he’d woken with.

Seconds and hours passed in that moment of dizzy aftermath.

When he next opened his eyes it was to the realization that he was on the floor. His gaze fell lazily to his lap, watching the water wash away the fluids from his motionless hand, still loosely gripping the base of his length. He barely felt the downpour, and that only increased his dread at what had been done. Not to mention a quiet horror for the conflicting emotions swirling behind his keel.

Nellus leaned back, his head tipping so that the top of his crest met the wall, trying and failing to will away the more complicated thoughts that wound between memories of that lopsided smile or a bright, green eye as its owner teased him. It was in that moment, alone on the floor of his shower, that he realized he was well and truly-

“Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

For the first time in years, Nellus sat down at his desk ten minutes late. Even Chellick was surprised but didn’t say anything when Nellus hurried passed him, strapping on his left pauldron as he moved through the locker room. The captain only tilted his head and churred his puzzlement. Nellus ignored him.

Looking upon the stacks of datapads that littered his desk, he tried to will away the start of that morning. The work in front of him was as tedious as it was endless. Cerberus had left a mess in their wake. Inventory to take, ships to schedule, not to mention a backlog of cargo freighters still waiting to land and be inspected. So much demanded his attention and yet, all he wanted to do was look towards the camps, hoping he’d see….

Nellus’ eyes snapped down to the neglected datapad in his hand, instantly embarrassed. Felix would never think of him in the same way. Not some has-been soldier that spends his days pushing datapads and was likely to die while doing just that. Staring at the text on his screen without reading it, Nellus winced. He could already picture the pitying look on Felix’s face.

Mercifully, his self-inflicted tirade ground to a halt with the buzz of his omni-tool.

 _Dear [_ **_TRAGEN, NELLUS_ ** _]_

 _You have a new health alert from your Huerta Memorial Hospital Online Personal Action Plan. According to our records, you are [_ **_129_ ** _] days past due for your annual physical. Please contact our offices to make an appointment so that we can assure you a bright and healthy future._

_Please do not reply to this email._

_This notification was automatically generated._

 

Nellus swiped away the vexing message like an insect on his wrist. Spirits, he only hoped that he had something that could kill him, preferably by day's end, if only to save him from the insurmountable mountain of work in front of him. Didn’t they have more important things to do than spam his email with useless alerts? Huerta had been full to bursting for months now and after the attack yesterday….

He glanced away from his omni-tool, realizing too late that his subvocals pitched his irritation in the form of a rolling growl. That’s when he noticed he had drawn the attention of a small, blonde-haired human standing in front of his desk. She watched him as though he were a curiosity in a zoo; his circular desk serving as an enclosure.

“What are you doing here?” He snapped.

“I’m waiting,” she answered, seemingly unperturbed by his prickly greeting… or lack thereof.

Nellus took a breath to cool the heat of his exasperation. The girl may be an annoying onlooker but that didn’t warrant his anger and she certainly didn’t deserve to be spoken to so harshly. Like everyone else in D-24, she looked a little aimless.

After reining in his temper, Nellus tried again, adopting his ‘serve-the-people’ persona. He made his hands visible upon his desk and dropped his shoulders to soften his pose. “Waiting? Waiting for who?”

“For my parents,” she replied with a tone Nellus knew all too well at this point. It was the sound of someone trying hard to be polite while also trying to get information without outwardly asking for it. She, like many before her, hoped he would have the answers to all her questions. “They put me on the rescue transport and said to wait for them here.” The girl stuffed her hands into the pockets of her purple overalls and dropped her eyes to the steel floor. “They’ll come to find me as soon as they can.”

As if he needed something else to feel guilty over that morning- his conflicting feelings toward his friend, his neglected work, and now he was intimidating orphans. “Well… I guess this is a safe enough place.”

A smear of orange caught his eye, Pit’s blood trailing behind his desk. Nellus had cleaned it up last night, though he'd apparently missed a spot. He wondered if she had noticed it or even knew what it was.

Taking a page from C-Sec’s training video-- ‘ _How To Communicate With The Youth of Today!_ ’-- Nellus propped an elbow on his desk to adopt a more casual appearance, lowering his height in the process. “Look. If anyone bothers you, let me know. I’ll take care of them, okay?”

_‘There you go, Tragen. There’s your good deed for the day.’_

The corners of her mouth tugged into a polite-- yet cautious-- smile. “Sure thing, sir. Thanks!”

 

* * *

 

A noticeable shift pitched the steel foundation of the Citadel and her populace moved like lost children wandering through a crowd. It was much harder for people to ignore the threat that loomed over them when the smell of smoke and burning flesh continued to permeate the air even after the bulk of it had been filtered out. Downcast eyes started looking up toward advertisements of a place called Sanctuary. The ads had been running for some time now, but more shuttles were leaving, bound for the place now that the veil of perceived safety had been lifted.

The Posnions were one such family.

From his desk, Nellus watched Felix escort them to the docking tube where their shuttle awaited. In the short time that Felix had known the family, they had practically adopted him as one of their own. They went to doctor appointments with him, and Kaius, quite literally, shared the clothes from his back.

He found himself thankful when they disappeared from his line of sight. It wouldn’t be right for him to intrude on such a private moment. When Felix re-emerged alone, Nellus was tempted to call out to him as he would likely need a friend to talk to. Instead, he dropped his eyes to his work surface. He hadn’t approached the refugee camps in days, let alone spoken privately with Felix.

Nellus used his talon to tap out his discomfort on the blue overlay of his desk. Even now, looking at Felix from across the docking bay, he felt an annoying flutter in his chest. Tension behind his keel gave the sensation of flight, his heart pounded like it demanded to run away and yet... what he truly wanted was to move toward him. And try as he might to smother it, the sensation only traveled down his arms and manifested itself in the palms of his hands, his pulse quickening beneath his hide.

Mercifully, Felix faded into the crowd before Nellus had caved and beckoned him. He never heard his name called out.

 

* * *

 

Standing off to the side, a stretcher could be seen trundling down the walkway of D-24. Upon it, a white sheet concealed a stiff body, tenting over a keel’s point. Another turian had taken their life during the night cycle. Nellus had found her that morning, hung by twisted sheets, dangling solemnly against the metal wall of her prefab. A datapad was nestled in the rim of her cowl.

 _The end will come for us all._  
_I just wanted to go out on my terms._ _  
I’ll be with you soon, Julus._

She was the seventh one since the coup and unlikely to be the last. Cerberus had taken more from the Citadel than the Human Councilor. They had pilfered the sense of security held by the citizens and evacuees. If the Citadel was no longer safer than their homeworlds, what hope was there for a brighter future?

Nellus could only take a sense of morbid solace in the fact that it wasn’t someone he knew. Not yet.

It was always hard to sit down at his desk after a morning like that. People milled about on the tips of their toes, watching each other and wondering if their neighbor would be next. And as news from the galaxy flowed in, hope gradually trickled out.

Sure, parties raged on in the upper wards, the bass from the clubs still vibrated the walkways on the neon strip. But to the evacuees with barely a credit to their names, all they had were each other. It was enough for a while, but as the community gradually lost its members, morale went with them. Even the card games were becoming less frequent.

He hadn’t spoken to Felix in weeks, which both relieved and worried him. On one hand, space would allow time to drop this ridiculous infatuation he had developed. They were feelings that would ultimately lead nowhere and it was selfish for even entertaining the thought. Felix was a refugee going through hell, more so since his surrogate family left him behind. The last thing he needed was his friend making a pass at him.

On the other hand… with the Posnions gone and the nightly card games all but canceled indefinitely, who did Felix have for company anymore? Nellus shied away from the thought of waking up one morning to find _him_ hanging by a twisted sheet.

A flash of irritation tore his eyes from the camps and he roughly snatched up a datapad, knocking a stack of applications over in the process. He just managed to stifle the curse on his tongue-- _barely_.

Three days after the coup, the remaining Councilors had decided to create a contingency plan in the event of an evacuation. Applications were being accepted for trained pilots. Mostly ex-military. Since Nellus worked the receiving desk on D-24, Bailey had decided to place him in charge of receiving them from the turian camps.

Staring down at the qualifications of the latest pilot, he didn’t notice the next applicant that approached his desk until a new datapad inched into his line-of-sight and bumped lightly but purposefully against his forearm. Nellus spared the device a quick glance-- _impressive results from the Armax Flight Simulator_ \-- before he tracked up the taloned finger that had nudged the device along his desk, up the owner’s arm before settling on his face. Though, Nellus knew who it was the second he had seen his hand. It was the same one that companionably clasped his shoulder after a bout of laughter or rhythmically stirred stew pots over an electric stove... or launched invasions against his more private thoughts. Traveling down his waist to settle on his hip-

That awful flutter behind his keel was becoming evermore maddening with its frequency. Nellus leveled Felix with a scrutinizing stare. “Wait. Don't tell me you suddenly remember that you can pilot ships too.”

Of course he fucking could. The fact that he was sweet and funny and could cook-- _and kill a man with a single swipe of his talons-_ \- already set him _leagues_ above Nellus’ own. What was one more talent to raise him another?

Felix simply returned his stare, trapping Nellus in an ocean of sea-green. In that lighting, it could have been blue.

After several seconds of silence, Nellus broke through the spell by prompting, “Well?”

“You told me not to tell you.”

That almost earned Felix a smile, but instead, Nellus schooled his expression into a scowl and handed him the datapad. He only allowed his smirk to manifest itself after Felix retreated back into the camps.

Felix had to be feeling the same grief that had taken so many. He woke up to the suicides just as often as Nellus did. Spirits, he likely _did_ know them or at least most of them. And yet, he somehow manages to power through to seek other ways to contribute to his community. As if he already wasn’t doing enough.

Felix was so damned turian it was almost painful.

Privately, Nellus rejoiced in handing him the application. Signing up as a pilot would remove Felix from danger should it come for the Citadel. At least then he would live another day.

Nellus would surely miss him when that time came.

After Felix disappeared into the crowd, Nellus spotted another familiar sight. The blond-haired human he had spoken with two weeks ago. She was leaning with her back braced against a railing that lined a row of benches-- the very ones Nellus had taken cover behind-- with her arms folded across her chest. She was reproachfully watching a group of human teenaged boys gathered around a planter. Concerning, considering that her omni-tool was alight on her wrist and yet she-- a teenager-- was more preoccupied with keeping track of their movements than poking absently at some game.

“Hey there!” he called out.

The girl turned to him from across the walkway. “Oh, it’s you- Hi!” Glancing briefly at the group of boys one last time, she pushed away from the bench and approached his desk.

“Your parents get here yet?” Nellus asked and furtively checked behind her shoulder, hoping the girl had someone watching out for her. He didn’t like the way she was looking at the other kids. It brought back unwelcomed, shameful memories of a scrawny, young Chellick who used to cast fearful glances over his shoulder.

“Nope,” she replied easily. Yellow hair, tied up behind her skull, swayed as she shook her head. “It’s okay, I mean, they’ll get here. They always keep their promises. They…” For a moment, the human trailed off. When she spoke again, the conviction she had held tapered off in the break. “The next shuttle was probably just late or something. That’s all.”

Nellus was tempted to ask who she was trying to convince: him or herself? Instead, he responded with: “I’m… sure you’re right. I look forward to meeting them.”

From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw a flash of red, but when he turned to look, it was gone.

 

* * *

 

Before Nellus could make his escape at the end of his shift, Chellick had corned him and asked if he was interested in drinks again. It was the last thing Nellus wanted, but he acquiesced anyway. Chora’s Den was a definite change from his dismal surroundings, so perhaps he’d benefit… And maybe get lucky and go home with someone that would help him forget about a certain lopsided smile.

“Sorry.” Chellick watched the colors of the neon strobe lights dance across the chrome bar top. The cubes in his barely-touched glass caught the light like small prisms. A human woman danced on the table adjacent to theirs but, for once, Chellick wasn’t interested.

Nellus took a swig from his bottle; a dark Macedyn brew and regarded his friend.

“For?” Nellus prompted with a slight tilt of his bottle, sloshing the liquid contents inside.

“The woman this morning.” Emerald eyes tracked the movement of the lights across his ice cubes.

Nellus flicked a mandible, tried to catch his friend’s gaze, and failed. “Not like she’s the first one.”

“Sorry,” Chellick repeated.

Nope. Neither one of them was getting laid. That was clear to Nellus five minutes after sitting down. They both sat heavily on their stools, their shoulders rounded and their eyes staring at nothing at all, looking about as attractive as two hanar in a book club. Nellus gave Decian’s drink a light nudge, agitating the ice. “Drink up. You’ll feel better.”

“I’m tired, Tragen,” he confessed, finally looking away from the bar top to meet his eyes.

Truer words were never spoken. Chellick’s facial plates looked prominent with his eyes so sunken in and Nellus knew he didn’t look much better. The coup had taken so much fight out of C-Sec. So many fellow officers lay dead among piles of civilian corpses. Turian, human, asari, salarian, it didn’t matter what color they bled. They all flatten out against the steel floor, and they all need collecting by what remained of the boys and girls in black and blue.

And surely, more death was imminent.

“Yeah," Nellus agreed and his mouth hung open in the hopes some shred of sagely advice would fall out. To his dismay-- and lack of surprise-- he only managed a pitiful, "Me too."

He felt utterly useless sitting there, like a fish flopping around on a muddy shoreline. He mentally scrambled for purchase, some flicker of confidence that he could instill in Chellick in the same way he was so apt at doing for others. But that wasn't a skill Nellus possessed or ever hoped to. He nomore belonged in a leadership position than he belonged in that club, surrounded by youthful people bumping and grinding against each other.

Scanning the crowd, desperate to look at anything besides the friend he was failing, he spotted one blissful couple in particular. Two turians danced together, holding each other despite, or maybe because of, the galaxy falling apart around them. They didn't care. Before envy could secure too tight a hold over him, Nellus sought refuge in his beer. The sour taste helped to wash away the bitterness he felt. “Have you talked to Bailey? Maybe he could-”

 _"Bailey_ _?”_ Chellick cut him off with a derisive snort. “Please…” He trailed off and his fingers drummed against the countertop in time with the music. Chellick’s gaze then drifted toward the nearby dancer for the first time that night and regarded her pensively. And as the bass counted down the seconds that ticked by, Nellus began to resign himself to the unfinished sentence.  

“Well,” Nellus performed a vague movement that encapsulated the disconsolate and woefully celibate disposition they shared that evening. “I don’t think we’re catching any interest tonight.”

Chellick huffed a laugh, his mandibles flaring into the first genuine smile Nellus had seen in weeks, and reached for his drink-

A flash of orange washed out the dancing colors on the bar as his omni-tool came to life, buzzing against the plates along Chellick’s forearm. Then a familiar voice, urgent in its message, sounded just barely above the club’s pulsing thrum.

_“This is Commander Shepard. I need C-Sec at my location now!”_

For a beat, they looked to each other before simultaneously springing from their stools and racing for the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **My wonderful betas throughout this story:**  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 

To Decian’s credit, he did an admirable job of running while simultaneously poking at his omni-tool. They had taken the Rapid Transit to the bar so a police cruiser needed to be summoned to their location. Nellus only had to redirect the captain’s course twice on their way to the transport station where the car would appear: the first before he almost barreled into an old salarian with a cane, and the second when he nearly clipped his shoulder against a vid-screen pillar.

His omni-tool buzzing against his wrist heralded a message from Chellick-- likely Commander Shepard’s coordinates. But he was too busy keeping the other turian out of harm’s way to check it immediately.

Throngs of people parted readily as they bolted through the crowd toward the edge of the walkway where their police cruiser waited for them. On their approach, the starboard hatch opened and Chellick dove inside to take the wheel while Nellus settled in the passenger seat. With a flip of a switch, their siren began to wail and the skycar peeled away from the curb to take to the artificial sky.

They would get to their location fastest with the autopilot off, so Chellick would do well to focus his attention on weaving their vehicle in and out of traffic. Preferably without getting them killed. Nellus took it upon himself to send additional units to Commander Shepard’s coordinates.

“Leske and Tepius are closest,” Nellus reported, reading the affirmative he’d received from the officers on the nearest beat. “ETA is five minutes.” Nellus grimaced at the readout on their cruiser’s display screen. Their own was twenty minutes.

The display screen was in the form of a orange hologram. A flashing white dot indicated their cruiser and multitudes of colored spots-- each one signifying a residential or commercial vehicle-- flickered as they sped through the sky. Nellus reached for the hologram and spread the projection with his thumb and finger, bringing their location front and center. The 800 Blocks, located in the upper wards, close to the perpetually daylit Presidium. A blurb bounced from underneath the pad of his finger to supply the name from Citadel maps: Laboratorial Discoveries.

Nellus turned his attention back to his omni-tool. “You ever been here?” he asked offhandedly. He swiped away useless tabs with his talon, searching for transit records.

“No.” Chellick threw the control to the stop to avoid a slow-moving truck. “That’s a residential area. What’s a lab doing there?”

Transit records popped up on Nellus’ interface. “Seems to be occupied by a Doctor Garret Bryson, his daughter Doctor Ann Bryson-- though she left the Citadel some time ago, and a Derek Hadley. All human names.” Nellus looked up from his screen to regard his captain. “Last one arrived six months ago.”

Their car listed hard to the left as Chellick brought them through a tunnel. Engines whirred and they passed six others in a single sweep. “Forward that info to Leske and Tepius.”

“Sir,” he affirmed.  

The residence-turned-lab was located at the top of a ritzy apartment complex. Whoever Bryson was, he was a well-paid individual to be living with the likes of volus tycoons and known Citadel diplomats. If memory served, it was the same complex Joram Talid had nearly been assassinated last year.

Upon arrival at the laboratory, Chellick coasted by the front entrance and brought their cruiser down beside their fellow officers’ vehicle. A second skycar hovered in place next to theirs, an unmarked red _Corvega-_ likely Commander Shepard’s rental. When the doors cycled open, Chellick and Nellus sprung from the car and hurried to the main entrance. They made it several paces before the entrance cycled open on its own and out walked Officers Leske, Tepius and the man Nellus suspected was their perp.

Bright white tattoos adorned Leske’s face, taking up the majority of the plating and striping his fringe, only leaving the ends of his mandibles bare. Tepius was a much older turian, nearing thirty- _or was it thirty-five now?_ \-- years on the force. His facial plates were awash with cracks and divots and his yellow Macedyn tattoos were heavily faded but could still be seen faintly along his maxilla.

“Captain,” Leske greeted over the shoulder of the suspect. “This is Derek Hadley-” he nodded at the back of the human’s head. “Our shooter.”

With his arms cuffed behind his back, held in place by Leske’s grip, Hadley stood motionless. He didn’t even look up at their approach, only fixed his brown eyes solidly on his feet. Upon closer inspection, tears tracked his cheeks as if he’d been crying but his disposition was not one of remorse. Shock perhaps?

“Bryson’s dead,” Tepius informed. “The coroner should be here shortly. Commander Shepard is still inside with her…” Trailing off, Tepius’ yellow-lined mandibles drew into his face, looking deeply uncomfortable. “V.I? She gave us orders to bring this one to the clinic and see if we can get information from him.”

She had _ordered_ them? Nellus wasn’t sure how to feel about that. As a Council Spectre, Commander Shepard was well within her rights to give orders to C-Sec personnel, but it wasn’t a very popular rule. Not only because many officers chaffed when Spectres flexed their near-limitless authority, but it often came with the implication that the matter was a Spectre one. It had never been done to him personally-- and what Spectre would want to take over _his_ job anyway? Spirits, he’d probably welcome the opportunity.

Chellick narrowed his eyes at the main entrance. “Do we know the purpose of the research done here?” he asked, folding his arms across his keel.

“Bryson and Hadley here were researching something called The Leviathan of Dis,” Leske supplied, perhaps a little too eagerly. He was still new to C-Sec, desperate to answer every question and make himself stand out.

Nellus couldn’t help but wonder if there was ever a time he looked at a superior so brightly. Was he ever so naive?

 _“Turn back.”_ Collectively, everyone directed their attention down to the human who had chosen that opportunity to finally speak. His voice was hollow, devoid of any warmth or emotion. _“The darkness cannot be breached.”_

“Yeah,” Leske shifted his weight and tilted his head toward the human. “That’s about all he’s saying on the matter. That, and _‘I didn’t do it. I don’t remember.’_ ”

“Uh huh.” Chellick flicked his mandible, unimpressed. He never was a proponent of ‘innocent until proven guilty.’

“Then he passed out,” Tepius added. “But he woke up when we collected him off the floor. Seems to be moving all right now but… well.” He flicked his mandible to gesture to the human’s near catatonic state.

“We’ll take him from here,” Chellick stepped up behind the human to secure his arm in his grasp. “Good work. Remain on the scene to meet the coroner and provide assistance upon request.”

Leske and Tepius shared a glance with each other, but they stepped away all the same with a collective, “Yes, sir.”

As Chellick marched Hadley back to the cruiser, he said, “Derek Hadley, you’re under arrest for the murder of Dr. Garret Bryson.”

Nellus trailed behind, barely listening as his captain perfectly recited The Rights for their suspect. An artificially generated breeze cooled his plates beneath his civvies, making him wonder why Chellick wanted to personally take the suspect in. Leske and Tepius were perfectly capable, not to mention _armored._ It wasn’t that he and Chellick were in any danger, but it was odd that his captain was so interested in the first place. Something was off about him, in the stiffness of his shoulders and the hollow quality of his clipped tone.

 _“The darkness cannot be breached,”_ Hadley flatly intoned just before Chellick closed the hatch on him.

 

* * *

 

The following skycar ride occurred in absolute silence. Hadley stared wide-eyed at his knees, only moving with the sway of the vehicle. Nellus was thankful for that but Chellick’s silence could only be described as eerie. He gripped the yoke tighter than necessary and his maxilla clamped harshly against his jaw. Every now and again he’d curse at a nearby driver for their speed but, otherwise, said nothing.

Nellus could only sit awkwardly in his seat. He tried twice for something to say but ultimately came up empty and resigned instead to gaze out the window. It wasn’t until they had put fifteen minutes between them and the lab that Hadley spoke again.

“W-what’s happening?” By that point, the silence had grown so thick that Hadley’s feeble voice made Nellus jump as if the man had screamed in his aural canal.

Chellick flipped the autopilot switch and twisted in his chair. “We’re taking you to a clinic for evaluation,” he said through the mass effect field that separated them. “Then it’s off for questioning.”

“ _Questioning?_ ” Hadley yelped. “Am I under arrest?!”

Nellus watched the patience fall loose from Chellick’s face. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted at the human. “Yes, you are, Derek.” He proceeded to parrot The Rights for the second time but was cut off when the human stomped his feet hard on the floor.

“This is a mistake!” he barked and leaned in close to the field, his eyes wide and a drop of spittle sat balanced on his lower lip. “I didn’t do it!”

“You shot Bryson right in front of a Spectre,” Chellick informed without an ounce of pity in his vocals. “It’s her word against yours, Hadley. Doesn’t look good for you, I’m afraid.”

Hadley’s arms jerked against his restraints. “I told them- I told _her_ , I don’t remember doing it. He was my _friend,_ damn it!” The human slumped against the back of the seat and tilted his head to gawk at the ceiling with watery eyes. “He was my friend,” he whimpered.

Nellus maintained his silence, quietly watching as Chellick turned back around and shut off the autopilot to manually steer the ship through her descent procedure. That eerie feeling didn’t disappear as they marched Hadley inside, nor across the hours they waited for him to be seen-- and subsequently refuse treatment. _“I don’t need rest, I need to clear my name!”_

Nellus’ discomfort took them all the way back to the station where Chellick locked Hadley away in a holding cell to await interrogation.

A more lawful cop would have insisted on at least a night of watch at the hospital, especially after losing consciousness the way their suspect did. Castis Vakarian, for example, would have not only insisted, but he would have brought up the matter of having a lawyer present.

Chellick did none of these things.

“My job right now is to ask questions,” Chellick told him privately in the locker room as he fastened his armor to his carapace. He wouldn’t need it for combat but the appearance of his black and blues would help establish dominance in the room. “He heard his Rights. If he wants to fuck himself, that’s his prerogative.”

It wasn’t an unusual mindset either, especially when eighty percent of suspects choose to waive their Rights anyway. Nellus couldn’t help but wonder how much of that percentage was made up by turians.

“Are you going to eyeball me all day or are you going to suit up?” Chellick asked, his attention focused on the task of fastening his gauntlet to his forearm.

Nellus blinked. “‘Suit up?’”

The gauntlet cuffed itself with a snap and Chellick moved on to withdraw his pauldrons from the locker. He laid one on the chrome surface of the cold bench that ran the length of the room and sat down to begin attaching the first one.

“The armor might be a bit much for ‘good cop,’ but we should at least strive for business casual.”

Nellus felt the moment his cognitive reason screeched to a halt. “I understand you’re under a lot of stress so maybe this little fact escaped your notice.” Nellus moved to straddle the bench and face his delirious captain fully. “I’m not a detective.”

Chellick shrugged, though Nellus couldn’t be sure if it was to disregard his response or merely to test the piece he had just attached. “Technically, neither am I. Not anymore. But as captain I’m authorizing _you--”_ he regarded Nellus now with a pointed look. “--as my witness against any police wrongdoing.”

“Should I provide a list or…?”

Decian snorted. “Funny.”

“Decian.” The drop of the forename caused his friend’s movements to still and he watched Nellus, quietly waiting for him to continue. “I push datapads all day and yell at old men for pissing in flower pots.” Nellus spread his arms as if to showcase the components of his mundane job that pieced-together the turian before him.

“And?” Chellick prompted.

A spike of frustration lanced through Nellus, armed at the tip with sharp anger. Was he really going to make him say it?  

“I don’t belong in there.” Nellus spoke slowly, carefully articulating the words so that maybe they’d get through his friend’s thick skull.

Chellick turned away to busy himself with his second pauldron. “If I had told you about the Primarch, you would have said the same thing.” Nellus opened his mouth to argue, but Chellick cut him off without a backward glance. “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. You know it’s true.”

Overlooking Chellick’s use of the human phrase-- and wondering if he had actually used it correctly-- Nellus had to concede the point behind it. He definitely would have protested for the same reasons. That the Primarch still-- _for now-_ \- walked among the living cut short any rebuke he could have made unless he wanted to sit there and argue that they just got lucky. Or that he was merely a small cog in that machine, the main gears being Shepard and Vakarian. But he didn’t have the energy for that.

Chellick must have taken his lack of response for reluctant admittance as he leaned forward to clasp Nellus’ shoulder and hummed a note of gratitude.

“I want you in there.”

“Do you have a personal stake in this case?” Chellick snapped his hand away like he’d been burned. “Is that why you want to conduct this investigation?”

Emerald eyes watched him for a moment and as the seconds ticked by, Nellus began to suspect that he would choose not to answer. Then he sighed and looked down at the tops of his gauntleted hands, his years seeping into his facial plates with a weary sigh.  “I have some questions that I want answers to,” he admitted. “That’s why I want you in there. I trust you.”

Discomfort, in the wake of emotions, was a feeling Nellus was all too familiar with. It tracked well-beaten paths through his brain and caused his consciousness to start clawing for a way out. He couldn’t help but place an extra five centimeters between himself and the captain, hoping it would go unnoticed.

“Awful sweet of you, Captain.” Nellus smiled and tried for laughter. “But surely you have other prospects to wine and dine who are just as trustworthy. ”

Chellick, however, did not laugh. “I don’t know about that. Not… not anymore.” Then his eyes lifted from his hands and he searched Nellus’ face almost imploringly. “I need you in there, Nellus. Please.”

With that ‘please’ went any hope that he’d get home at a reasonable hour that night. Spirits, he didn’t even know what time it was and by that point he was afraid to check. The only thing he knew for sure was that there was absolutely no way he could dredge up the willpower to decline.

Though, he wouldn’t bother to hide his thoughts as he stood from the bench and began the process of opening his locker.

“Fuck me.”

Chellick’s white-lined mandible flared into an old, familiar grin. “Thanks, but I’ll have to politely decline.”

 

* * *

 

The interrogation room was designed to be claustrophobic. The walls were bare of pictures, viewports, or anything someone could train their eyes on. The monotonous white paint of the walls was only broken by a very conspicuous double-sided glass pane that took up the length of one side of the room. And a chrome table sat in the middle with three chairs strategically placed so that the perp would have to sit cornered by two officers.

Dressed down in his casual black and blues, Nellus sat across from Hadley, allowing the width of the table to put some space between them. Chellick, however, sat heavily in his armor right beside him. For now, Hadley seemed perfectly willing to talk so Chellick had agreed to keep silent to start. He simply folded his arms over his keel and fixed his green eyes on the human.

“We haven’t properly met yet,” Nellus began, reaching his hand across the table in a human greeting that Hadley accepted. “I’m Officer Tragen. The turian beside you is Captain Chellick. Don’t worry. He’s only here to observe.” Nellus grinned at the silent captain. “I’m under evaluation, myself.”

“You are?” The bump in Hadley’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Nellus spread his arms on the table, opening his chest and made his hands visible. “We all start somewhere, right? I understand you had just begun working for Doctor Bryson. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Hadley’s eyes widened and he shifted forward in his seat. “I didn’t do it. I swear I don’t remember ever-”

Nellus held up a placating hand, stopping the tirade before it could begin. “Hey, hey. Don’t worry. We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” he soothed. He was careful to keep his tone at a low register as he continued: “Now, you know there was a Spectre present at the scene-”

Hadley balled his hands on the table. “And I told her-”

“I know, Derek, I know. I just want to inform you of what we’ve been told of the situation. That’s all.”

Chellick’s chair creaked beneath the weight of his armor and Hadley’s eyes darted toward him and then back at Nellus.

“The Spectre saw you enter the room with a weapon drawn. She saw you fire it and she disarmed you. That sound about right?” It was a leading question, he knew. Precisely why the man should have came in with a lawyer, but he made his decision.

“I guess so, but I really don’t remember firing it.”

“What do you remember, Derek?”

“I…” Hadley pursed his lips and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he rifled through his thoughts. “I remember darkness… I felt cold.”

“Cold?” Nellus tilted his head. “Emotionally or…”

Hadley shook his head. “No. _Cold_ cold. Freezing. It was like I was... somewhere else. Then there was a gun in my hand and then a loud bang.” Realization seemed to dawn on Hadley. His lips parted momentarily and he stared earnestly at Nellus. “Blackout crimes,” he blurted.

 _‘What?’_ was what Nellus almost replied. Instead, he countered: “I’m going to need you to explain that to me.”

Hadley’s chest rose and fell rapidly and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “Doctor Bryson was researching strings of blackout crimes to try and track down the Leviathan of Dis. I wonder if _that’s_ what happened to me.”

Five-fingered hands twitched on the table as if itching for something-- a datapad to jot down the latest hypothesis. Nellus and Chellick exchanged a quick glance. Back the scene, Leske had referred to the project by that name but had no other information.

“The sooner you tell us what that is, Hadley, the sooner we can finish up here,” Chellick growled.

“We were Task Force Aurora,” said Hadley, rotating in his chair to address the captain. “Our mission was to learn as much as we could about a time before the Reapers.”

“Myths and legends, you mean,” Chellick scoffed.

“No-- well, yes. In the Dis system, the Hegemony found what we now believe was a Reaper corpse. We were tasked in discovering what could have killed it. Doctor Bryson referred to that entity as the True Leviathan. In order to find it, we were utilizing patterns around the galaxy in the hopes of extrapolating a course.”

“Patterns?” Chellick queried, dipping his white-lined chin.

“As I previously mentioned, blackout crimes were one.” Hadley raised a hand, ticking down his fingers as he listed: “Also rachni ship movements, large traces of element zero on asteroids, dinosaur fossil records, we even studied Species 37-- er, the Thorian.”

Nellus blinked. “That thing that Shepard found on Feros?” He still remembered reading about that news story in the shower that morning. It was a colossal, plant-like creature that enthralled the inhabitants of the colony and forced them to do its bidding.  

Hadley nodded. “The very same. We think the Leviathans might have a similar ability to-” Suddenly, Hadley cringed as if he’d been struck. Nellus’ eyes flickered to Chellick, half-way expecting him to have been the culprit for Hadley’s discomfort, but no. He simply sat in his chair, hands on his knees, watching the display with an air of discomfort… or maybe irritation.

“When was Doctor Bryson’s last correspondence with his team?” Chellick cut in.

Hadley breathed slowly through his nose once, twice, and then tried for an answer. “Doctor Alex Garneau sent an artifact from one of the dig si- _ahh!_ ” Hadley pawed at his temples as if something inside his head was erupting.

“And who started Task Force Aurora?” Chellick snapped. When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he slammed his fist on the table, making the human jump slightly in his chair. “Focus, Hadley,” he growled. “Who was behind it?”

“Doctor Bryson-”

“Varren shit,” Chellick snarled. “Someone is funding it. _Who_ is funding it?”

Through clenched teeth, Hadley seethed, “I- I think it’s happening-”

_“Who’s funding it?”_

“It’s happening again,” implored Hadley. “Fuck. It hurts!”

“Chellick,” Nellus warned, effectively stopping him from launching another verbal assault, though he clearly wanted to. Regardless, the captain closed his mouth and pulled up his omni-tool.

“I’m getting an ambulance,” he acknowledged.

By the way Hadley clutched at his skull, Nellus seriously doubted they would arrive in time. He sprung from his chair with his own omni-tool out and began scanning his vitals. The C-Sec issued 'tool was at least high tech enough to translate the human's readings into something legible for him. “They’re off the charts.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them!” Nellus retorted over his shoulder before turning back to the human. “Derek, I need you to breathe, ok?”

 _“It hurts!”_ he wailed.

“I can see that,” Nellus soothed. “We’re going to get you help--”

Hadley screamed. Fingernails clawed grooves into his scalp just as a stream of blood unleashed from his nostrils. They watched his eyes roll back, leaving only the whites visible before his head hit the desk.

For the briefest of seconds, above Hadley’s still form, Nellus and Chellick locked eyes. All pretenses of their personas had fled as they searched for answers in the other’s face.

 

* * *

 

They laid Hadley out on his side and closely monitored his vitals while they waited for paramedics to arrive. Nellus had wedged himself uncomfortably where the end of the desk met the wall, balanced on his toes so as not to step on the prone human. On every five minute interval, he scanned him, casting an orange glow down the length of his body. Fortunately, the numbers that reflected Hadley’s vitals on his interface read as normal.

_Body temp: 36.5 degrees_

_Pulse: 65 BPM_

_SYS/DIA: 120/80 mmHg._

_Respiration: 16 rpm_

_Sp02: 98%_

That didn’t change the fact that he was completely unresponsive.

Chellick stood by the door, presumably coordinating with the responders. He poked stoically at his omni-tool, particularly when Nellus would report on Hadley’s unchanged vitals, but otherwise said nothing. It wasn’t until Hadley was loaded up on a gurney and into an ambulance that Chellick finally spoke again.

“Let’s go.” He started down the hallway but Nellus didn’t immediately follow. He wondered if Chellick would turn around if he didn’t move at all and he was almost tempted to put that theory to the test but decided against it.

“Where?” Nellus asked while the captain was still within earshot.

“I want to have a chat with Bailey,” he replied mostly with the use of his second vocals. He had traveled too far for the use of his primary voice.

“Bailey?” Nellus hurried to catch up as the pieces mentally fell together. Was Bailey the reason for Chellick’s twitchy behavior lately? He kept mentioning not being able to trust people, hadn’t he?

Chellick rounded the corner and walked briskly down the hallway toward the elevator that would take them to the Citadel Embassies. “He knows something about this,” was all he said until the door opened and emitted them into the lobby.

 _‘Welcome to The Citadel Embassies. You are on floor thirty-one: The Human Embassy,’_ Avina chimed when they hurried past her.  

“And I’m tired of being kept in the dark.”

“What are you talking about?”

Chellick approached the door and all but slammed his gauntleted palm against the hand reader. For a brief moment, Nellus could almost delude himself that this would go diplomatically. That when the door opened, Chellick would step inside and politely inquire for the Commander’s knowledge on the situation. It would all turn out to be a funny misunderstanding and they’d laugh stupidly around his desk.

“What the fuck, Bailey?” Chellick snarled the second the door cycled open.

Nellus knew that he could go home, crawl under the covers for what little time remained of the night cycle and pretend he had nothing to do with this. The next morning he would just go to work and try not to look too often over at the refugee camps. For entertainment, he could sit and practice managing the spike his heart rate took every time Felix grinned at him.

So, of course, he begrudgingly followed his friend inside, counting down the final seconds left to abort until the exit cycled shut behind him.

Bailey sat at his desk with his nose in a datapad, only looking up when seven feet of Chellick-shaped rage came storming over. The commander calmly laid the datapad on the table and rotated his chair to face them fully.

“Evening, boys,” Bailey greeted and his eyes swept across them. He frowned. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

Nellus had spent enough time around humans to know when they weren’t doing well. Commander Bailey looked just as withered and tired as Nellus felt. He had earned himself more than a few new wrinkles across his forehead and in the webbing at the corners of his eyes. He wondered how many night cycles had gone by with Bailey sitting at his desk as he was now. He sincerely doubted that finding him at work this late _\-- and he still hadn’t checked the time--_ was nothing unusual.

“You’re damn right this isn’t a social call,” Chellick seethed. “What do you know about Doctor Bryson’s lab?”

“Oh,” was Bailey’s lusterless reply. “I was wondering when you’d come pounding on my door about that. Take a seat.”

“I’ll stand,” Chellick growled.

“All right,” Bailey nodded. “Stand then. The truth is that I know next to nothing about it. Hackett informed me about researching how to beat the Reapers and far as I’m concerned that’s a goal worth pursuing.”

From behind, Nellus could see the way Chellick’s mandibles flared, flashing his teeth. “And you didn’t think it was pertinent to inform me?”

“I’m sorry, son. All I know is it’s an Alliance matter.”

“ _The Alliance,”_ Chellick spat. “Who has no Spirits-damned jurisdiction on the Citadel.”

“And they still don’t. But on this regard-”

“A man is dead, _Bailey_ !” Chellick shouted. “And another is lying in a coma right now. It stopped being _‘an Alliance matter’_ when _we-_ ” Chellick gestured at both himself and Nellus. “-were the ones called to the scene!”

Bailey’s lips parted and he watched the anger roll across Chellick’s facial plates, from his visible sharp teeth to the harsh lines of his shoulders. “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about a lot of things. But I swear I didn’t agree to anything. Admiral Hackett only informed me what was going on. It was a ‘look the other way’ kind of moment. That’s all.”

“Do you always do what the Alliance tells you?”

“Easy, son.”

“And will you _stop_ that ‘son’ thing?!” Chellick slammed both hands on Bailey’s desk, the vibrations sending a potted plant crashing to the floor. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to not be able to trust your own commander?”

“I know you’re under a lot of strain right now, Decian.” Bailey held up his hands in a mollifying gesture. “But we’re on the same side.”

Chellick scoffed and shook his head. With his hands still braced on Bailey’s desk, he looked up and asked: “Is that what you told Executor Pallin?”

The name brought a heavy weight crashing down on the room. What happened between Bailey and Pallin wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was a topic Bailey never liked discussing so most officers never brought it up around him. The commander stiffened in his chair and Chellick leaned further over the desk, pinning him to his seat with his stare.

Nellus took a step toward Chellick should the need to intervene arise.

“You know my story on that. He gave me no choice.”

“And it was Udina who sent you to kill him, right?”

“He sent me to _arrest him._ Yes.”

“That’s pretty convenient, don’t you think? The same man behind the Coup, who got all those people _\-- our people--_ killed!”

“Decian,” Nellus cautioned, taking another step but Chellick ignored him.

Bailey stood from his chair, his hands bracing on the surface of his desk. “I didn’t like that snake any more than you, but-”

“And yet ‘that snake’ was who sent you after the Executor, and Pallin was on to him, wasn’t he?” It wasn’t a question. “He knew he was being hunted, he knew you were coming, and yet you’re still here and he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want to kill him!” Bailey’s voice finally rose as a wash of red flooded his complexion.

“You shot him point-blank in the waist!”

Nellus winced. The thought of getting shot in that location would make any turian cringe.

“He fired at me first!” Bailey retaliated and he leaned boldly into Chellick’s space. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“How can I believe you-” Black and blue flickered across his plates from the illuminated C-Sec logo behind Bailey’s chair.  “When you _keep shit like this from me?!_ ” With a sweep of his hand, Bailey’s datapads went scattering to the floor.

Nellus grabbed Chellick by the arm, ignoring his protests as he tried to pull him away from the commander's desk.

“Let go, Tragen,” said Chellick, his voice like ice.

Nellus wheeled him so that he could look him square in the face. “You’re going to lose your job,” he warned, but Chellick was too angry to care. He yanked out of his grasp and moved to brush by but Nellus seized him again.

“Why don’t you go back to your desk.”

Nellus never felt his hand loosen its grip on Chellick’s arm. He was barely aware of it falling to his side. He did, however, feel his face slide into an impassive mask, concealing the stabbing pain he felt in his chest.

“Sir,” Nellus affirmed and turned on his heel. He pretended not to hear Chellick swear as the door cycled shut between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **End Notes:**  
>  1) Leske and Tepius are the two nameless turians that respond to Shepard's call in the Leviathan DLC. I was _really_ hoping that Bioware had used Nellus' NPC model so that I could have inserted him directly into the scene but alas, they did not. However, while replaying the scene, the game locks you into the lab until you find your first clue. Only then does the door to the outside unlock. What I'm saying is: Nellus and Chellick are totes standing outside during that time. XD 
> 
> 2) I genuinely thought Sarah was going to be in this chapter, but I liked how the last scene ended and I didn't want to just tack on something extra that would completely change the tone. I promise, she'll be back next chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **My wonderful betas throughout this story:**  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
>   
>  **Disclaimer:**  
>  **CW:** Mention to the act of vomiting at the beginning stages of this chapter.

_‘How could someone possibly be so excited about cereal?’_

Through a numbing haze of fatigue, Nellus stared at the levo packaging in the supermarket. Specifically, the human children on the corner of the box, just below an illustration of a hanar. A magenta tentacle wrapped around the handle of a pistol, aiming it off to the side. The kids grinned stupidly around the spoons held to their mouths as if every good grade they had ever achieved culminated down to the moment that they were allowed to eat freeze-dried grain.

Prior to haunting the aisles of the grocery store that night-- _morning_ , Nellus had spent hours tossing and turning in bed, twisting the sheets around his legs. When he closed his eyes all he saw-- all he could think about-- was the look on Chellick’s face and the contempt in his voice. How long had Chellick wanted to say that to him?

Eventually, the muscles of his eyelids grew sore in their endeavor to stay shut. Resigned to a sleepless night, and with a yearning to clear his tumultuous thoughts, Nellus gave up on sleep and crawled out of bed. It wasn’t rage that kept him awake, he registered while swaying on the Rapid Transit shuttle, neon colors of the Citadel flashing across his vision. Chellick had not said anything unwarranted. Maybe it just hurt to actually hear him say it, that voicing it suddenly made the grim thoughts about himself all the more real.

Continuing down the aisle, dragging his feet as he moved, he passed by a bedraggled batarian reeking of alcohol. There was a sallow tint to his wrinkled skin, which wasn’t all that unusual when he thought about it. Batarians on the Citadel weren’t exactly cursed with the burden of fighting off suitors from their beds, but this one looked particularly unhealthy. As Nellus neared, the batarian peered at him-- _somehow--_ with just one of his four weary eyes, lurched forward, and vomited on to the tile floor.

Nellus’ nasal plates flared with disgust, and it might not have been solely over the sick. Fighting off guilt that was ravenous in its hunger had a way of making someone feel like vomiting too. Inanely, he wondered if the batarian had done something recently that had led him to this moment in which he was about to ruin some unfortunate clerk’s night. Maybe he had deserted a friend in a similar way to what Nellus had done to Chellick. They could have been in a situation that ended up escalating upon his departure because he was too damned preoccupied with his own minor wounds. Perhaps he had withdrawn, as Nellus had, leaving his captain and commander behind to clean up the shit splattering against the proverbial fan.

Maybe this batarian was just like him, cursing himself to walk painfully bright aisles in an attempt to alleviate his guilt in a sea of false smiles and advertisements-- a sour stench assaulted Nellus' senses, a dark patch growing in the fabric of the batarian’s inner thigh. Nellus grimaced.

Or maybe he was just drunk.

Continuing past the reprobate, Nellus reached the end of the aisle and heard _‘cleanup on aisle three’_ over the comm system. A dead-eyed youth with a mop loosely in hand rounded the corner and passed him by, heading toward the mess that he must be dreading.

After all that had transpired that night-- Bryson’s lab, Hadley, Chellick’s blow-up at Bailey, it led Nellus here, wandering a grocery store like a lost Spirit, blinking beneath blinding fluorescent lights at products he had no intention of buying.

“I don’t need your help, human!” a voice like crushed glass growled from the aisle Nellus had vacated.

“Sir, you’re getting puke on the cereal.”

He felt his omni-tool buzz against his wrist, drawing his attention to the time: 0615. On a normal morning, he would be cursing his alarm clock, fighting wakefulness with tooth and talon. Today, however, he merely sighed and left the store bound for the nearest Rapid Transit. It was a good hour before his shift when he walked drearily through a mostly empty locker room.

His movements were methodical as he armored himself for the day. It was akin to acting as a spectator in his own head, watching his movements through a thick fog and barely registering that they were his own. Commenting, every now and again, when higher thinking was required. By the time he finished, sleepy-eyed officers of the first shift were starting to trickle in, which meant Chellick would be in soon.

An odd sense of urgency kicked in. While he couldn’t muster the ability to feel-- well, anything, he certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to be upbraided for his frowzy appearance. Or worse, an appraisal by impenetrable eyes behind a mask of disappointed countenance.

The locker room doors shut behind Nellus like an airlock with the same onset of wariness that would kick in, warning against turning around. The steel doors kept him safe from the black void, likely filled with scornful words about him that he wouldn’t want to hear.

As Chellick suggested the night before, Nellus went back to his desk to begin the day. It would become the longest shift of his life as he tried to make sense of the text on his datapads. It was hard not to re-read the same sentence several times when his mind was preoccupied with the events of the previous night.

 _“Doctor Bryson was researching strings of blackout crimes to try and track down the Leviathan of Dis. I wonder if_ that’s _what happened to me.”_ Hadley had said. Could there truly be a creature out there with that much power? To not only kill a Spirits-damned Reaper, but to take control of someone from unfathomable distances?

“Hey!”

Distracted, Nellus started at the unexpected voice. His eyes snapped up from his datapad to see purple overalls and a hopeful half-smile waiting for him. “Oh. Hey, it’s you,” he greeted, hoping his voice didn’t sound as slurred and groggy as he felt. “Still waiting, I see. Any news?”

“No, but…” The girl trailed off, her eyes falling to her feet as if she’d find the answers to her worries on the floor. She then looked up and smiled again, though Nellus didn’t miss the growing effort behind it. “They promised, right? They’ll get here soon.”

 _‘Not likely,’_ he almost said.

“I’m sure they will,” he replied instead. Before he’d even completed his sentence, she was reflexively nodding, clinging to any pittance of hope he would offer. Dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes, he noticed. Almost as stark as the ones Bailey was sporting these days.

Before Nellus’ sluggish brain could catch up with his mouth, he offered: “I’ll drop by later to check in on you, if that’s okay."

A smile-- one that seemed to form far easier than the last-- broke across the girl’s face. And though her following reply was a simple “okay,” there was no denying the relief that laced the word.

Nellus pitied her. She had to be pretty damned lonely to view his company as any more than an obligation at best. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all, the offer probably made her feel like she had to be polite. As he watched her return to the crowd with a shy wave, it was like saying goodbye to another night of sleep.

Still, he couldn’t help but return it.

 

* * *

 

At the end of his shift, after he’d closed up his terminal and headed to the locker room, Nellus considered finding the girl right away. As he tucked his cuirass into his locker, fitting it at an angle around his pauldrons and boots, a thought occurred to him.

Ration bars of questionable date were dispersed among the evacuees on a regular basis. If she were turian, she would have Felix as an option to turn that tasteless slab into something half-decent, but she and all the other levo refugees had to woefully make do without him. So when was the last time she had eaten something more palatable than that?

With his mind made up, Nellus closed his locker and made a detour to C-Sec’s cafeteria-- _taking care to avoid bumping into Chellick_ \-- to see what was readily available. The corridors were busy with cops coming and going from first shift to second. With the exception of an occasional nod, Nellus went largely unnoticed as he moved. Fortunate because that meant word hadn’t spread about the way he’d abandoned Chellick.

When the cafeteria door cycled open, he was met by the sight of several weary C-Sec officers sitting around the tables and benches. Some poked absently at their omni-tools while others stared down at their O-shaped cereal that floated in a pool of off-white milk. None of them spared more than a glance as he entered, their minds preoccupied with their own private quandaries brought on by the war.

Nellus could sympathize.

Moving to a cabinet of complimentary dried goods, he opened it, and picked up a box of powdered eggs. He squinted skeptically at the tab someone had neglected to close. Even if the package hadn’t been left open to be contaminated, a stove would be required to heat the contents, something the girl didn’t have access to unless one of the luckier prefab tenants took pity on her.

It wouldn’t work.

He sealed the tab, returned the box to its place in the cabinet, and moved on to the next option-- cereal. Smith could often be found digging into the travel-sized boxes of cereal that C-Sec provided, though it was often after bitching for five minutes over the ever-expired milk in the fridge. Then he’d proceed to eat the morsels dry, a scowl set firmly on his face.

Nellus withdrew a small box of Blast-O’s and eyed the picture of the human children in the corner for the second time that day. They _looked_ happy eating it even if it was the paycheck the models had been promised that probably put the smiles there. At any rate, it had to beat ration bars. He took two boxes and hurried to the docking bay.

It was when Nellus entered the lift, punching in the button that he pondered the odd habit he seemed to be developing of bringing food to people when meeting them-- like a damn conciliatory gesture. ‘ _Sorry for my shitty personality and gracelessness. Here, maybe this edible bribe will make up for it.’_

Pushing the thought from his mind, he scanned the crowd until he spotted her standing in front of his desk. With her hands hidden in the pockets of her overalls-- _did she have a change of clothes?_ \-- she glanced around as if looking for someone-- ‘ _me_ ,’ Nellus realized with a start.

“Hey!” He called out and picked up his pace.

At the sound of his voice, her yellow hair whipped the air as she turned to face him. “Hey,” she greeted, the relief in her smile making him feel ashamed for his tardiness.

“Sorry. Made a detour.” Nellus held out the two cereal boxes, clamped together in one hand. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Whoa!” Her eyes widened with what could only be excitement as she accepted his offering. “Blast-O’s. My mom never let me have these!”

_‘Shit.’_

Nellus eyed the box suspiciously, his mandible flicking in discomfort. “Why’s that?”

The girl shrugged with both shoulders. “Sugar content.” She flipped one of the boxes around to the nutritional side and held it up for inspection. Despite her holding the box at arm’s length, he still had to bend to read it. “Sugar’s the number one ingredient,” she announced with no small amount of elation. “Thank you, Mr.- uh.” Her expression faded into puzzlement and the hand she held aloft fell to her side.

“S’all right,” he said. “The ‘Mr.’ isn’t needed. You can call me Nellus.”

The girl freed up her right hand by tucking the box underneath her left arm. She then held it up to him in a common human greeting. “Sarah Griffin. You can call me Sarah.”

Nellus eclipsed her tiny hand within his own. “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”

Despite the difference in their hand size, she gave his a firm shake. “And it’s nice to have someone to meet!” She exclaimed before releasing his hand and pointed toward a window bay that faced the landing pad. “Want to sit?”

“Oh.” Nellus hesitated while he mentally tallied socially acceptable responses. He suspected that _‘No thanks. I see you’re all right. I’d rather go home and sleep’_ wasn’t one of them. “Sure.”

She led him to the window bay, obscured from sight of the walkway by several disheveled-looking tents of various colors. Tucked in the corner, astonishingly not stolen, was a knapsack containing what had to be all that remained her home. “Prime real estate, right here.” Sarah spread her arms, a cereal box in each hand, to encompass the window bay. “I can keep an eye on all the ships from here.” She took a seat beside her pack and patted the spot beside her. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Nellus accepted the welcome into her ‘home’ and sat down beside her. He hoped he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. He was never very good at talking to kids, but if the way she tore into the top of the cereal box was any indication, she wasn’t bothered. “Where are you from? I never asked.”

Sarah replied around a mouthful of cereal, tripping up his translator. Nellus flicked a mandible and tapped his temple where the device was installed. “‘Fraid my translator isn’t updated for that language.”

Crumbs flew from her lips despite her best efforts to laugh with her mouth shut. “Sorry,” she said after swallowing. “I said, Terra Nova. You?”

“Taetrus.”

“That’s cool.”

Nellus snorted, turning his head to look away from her and at the ships on the horizon. “Said no turian ever.”

Sarah hummed and made a rustling sound as she plucked a few pieces from the box, changing tactics from the stuffing-her-face method. “Why’s that?”

“It...” He paused to try and find the perfect word to describe the cluster-fuck that is his homeworld. She probably knew next to nothing about the Vallum blast that occurred barely a year ago, let alone the slew of Taetrus’ conflicts. “Just has a long history.”

“Got any family there?” She asked next.

Nellus knew he shouldn’t have felt surprised at the face that came to mind. For it wasn’t that of his mother or father. “No, not there. Got a friend here on the Citadel, though. I guess you could say he’s like a brother.”

“Brother from another mother, huh?” She crunched on another handful of the unappetizing morsels. “You’ve known him a long time?”

After a quick mental calculation, Nellus concluded: “About twenty years now.”

Admitting that aloud was somehow both relieving and upsetting. At some point over the years, Chellick had become more family to Nellus than his own biological one.

Sarah whistled. “I’ve seen marriages fall apart sooner than that.”

And Nellus had abandoned him. “Yeah.”

“I have a sibling too,” she went on. “An older sister. We’re eight years apart so we’ve never been all that close. She joined the Alliance when she was eighteen and have barely seen her since.” Sarah turned her face toward the glass, her blue eyes tracking the skycars that darted across the sky. “I know she’s out there somewhere. I hope she’s okay.”

Ah. Nellus had a few options here. Platitudes were usually appreciated to some extent, though they could go horribly south when said to the wrong person. It was too soon to get a proper read on Sarah’s character so he erred on the side of caution and changed the subject. He leaned back on the uncomfortable bench and stretched his arm across the seat backs away from Sarah. “I’ve never been to Terra Nova. Were you born there?”

Sarah’s gaze flickered back to him. “Yup. Born and raised. This is...” She paused, the corners of her mouth tugging slightly downward. “Actually my first time off-world.”

Before he could rein in the emotion on his face, his eyes widened and he felt his mouth part. It was bad enough that she was forced to live in such close quarters with thousands of strangers, let alone this being her first experience off-world. That also meant she experienced space flight for the first time and did so without the guidance of her parents.

“This must’ve been a shock to you, then.”

She smiled around a breath of laughter. “A little yeah. I haven’t met many alie-uh… non-humans. There were some on T.N, but not a lot.” Her eyes shot to the top of his crest. “Turians are way taller than I thought they’d be.”

Nellus grinned. At least he managed to get one thing right as a turian: he’s tall.  “Wait until you meet an elcor.”

Sarah’s eyes widened as if physically struck by the thought that occurred. “I saw a krogan! Holy smokes, they’re huge! Is it true they have two of-” She took a moment to glance around before dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. _“Everything?”_

Mimicking her secretive pose, he bent at the waist to bring his head lower. Quietly, he told her: “Not only is that true, some of them believe that acquiring others will help their fertility.”

“ _Gross_!” She exclaimed, not looking at all put-off as she giggled. “What else?”

“You know,” he shot her a side-eye glance. “In case it doesn’t go without saying, I’m not an authority on other races. Sometimes I barely understand my own.”

“Sorry.” Sarah folded her short legs up on the seat, tucking her feet beneath her so she could face him fully. It looked uncomfortable, or at least it would have been for a turian. “I know that. I just-well… I have so many questions! And, if we’re being honest, that’s part of the reason I came to talk to you in the first place. When I first saw you I thought- well, first I thought _‘wow, that’s a turian’_ and then I noticed you were a turian with a clipboard.”

Nellus barked a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. You looked super official so I thought I’d….”

“Wait by my desk?”

Sarah shifted her weight, looking all the world like she’d been caught in a lie. “Yeah.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve never used ‘super official’ to describe myself, but you can ask me questions.”

All at once, Sarah’s face came alive with enthusiasm. “I have a lot them, starting with this.” The opened box of Blast-O’s rose between them. “Is it true you’ll die if you eat this?” A beat, then: “And was that rude to ask?”

Instead of a verbal reply, Nellus settled for a demonstration. Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his talons into the box, pointedly ignoring the way Sarah’s mouth fell open the instant he popped the kernel into his maw. It tasted not unlike styrofoam packaging, complete with a bitter chemical aftertaste.

“I’m not so sure _you_ should be eating this,” he commented with a grimace.

“No way, these are great.” She beamed, reaching into the box to withdraw another handful. “Best thing I’ve eaten in _weeks!”_

“To answer your first question, I might have a problem if I ate enough of ‘em. Just one _shouldn’t_ kill me, but I suppose we’ll find out. Some of us are more tolerant to levo food than others.” Nellus stretched his neck as he slowly felt the discomforts of sitting in one place too long. “As to your second question; a little rude, but I’m not about to judge you for that. Your sense of taste, on the other hand, is fair game.”

“You don’t like sweets, I take it,” she observed and crunched on another disgusting kernel, one morsel at a time.

He tilted his head in thought. “Do they taste like packaging doused in chemicals to you?”

“They do not.” Her answer came as a simple statement, not an argumentative one. “They taste like pure joy and childhood memories.”

“Ah. Then that might not be a pallet our species shares.”

“ _Weird_.” Sarah took a moment to recline against her backpack. “Ok, so what’s the deal with asari?”

Minutes or hours went by, Nellus couldn’t be sure, but the twilight cycle had long since run its course by the time Sarah seemed to run out of questions. For now, anyway. Darkness shadowed D-24 when she twisted around to withdraw her crisis-issued space blanket from her pack, tucking the emptied cereal boxes behind it.

Nellus said his goodbyes but when he turned to leave, he was stopped by the sound of her voice. “Nellus?”

 _“Hm?”_ He turned his head and it was hard not to allow pity to cloud his expression. She lay curled up on a bed of dura-crete that made up the window bay, her body huddled beneath a metallic-looking shroud with her backpack cradling her head.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Despite the darkness, only broken by weak fluorescent lights that lined the floor, he could see her face drawn with hesitation. “Would it be all right if I stopped by?”

He couldn’t help the pull of his mandible as it lifted into a small smile. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

Though she said nothing to stop him again, he found himself reluctant to begin his course back home. It had been all he could think about during his entire shift, but now it just felt… wrong to leave her there. Regardless of the fact that she had slept in that spot for two weeks now, she was just a kid.

 

* * *

 

The image of a small bundle huddled beneath the window stayed with Nellus on the Transit ride home. Sarah was only thirteen, far too young to be on her own, even by turian standards. At fifteen years of age, a turian is considered an adult, but that stage for humans was a whole three years later. She should be in school right now, fretting over her next math test, not snacking on a box of cereal in a space station waiting to die alone.

What was he doing at her age? It definitely wasn’t sitting around a space station waiting for his parents to show up. No, that was probably the age he realized that he didn’t need to sneak out of his bedroom anymore. His parents didn’t care if he just walked right out the door. He should probably put some thought into how they were doing-- whether they were dead, alive, or shambling marauders **.** And yet, he wasn’t. He didn’t care.

Pondering that revelation, he almost didn’t see the turian standing outside his apartment door. The whispering sound of fabric brushing against plaster was what raised Nellus’ eyes from the floor, barely managing to hide the apprehension from his face.

Chellick.

The Captain lay in wait, leaning against the opposite wall from Nellus’ door with his arms folded across his keel. Upon Nellus’ approach, Chellick glanced up as if startled. Had he been dozing on his feet?

“There you are,” he observed, maintaining his leisurely posture against the wall. “You’re home late.”

Nellus couldn’t be sure who looked worse between the two of them. Chellick appeared every bit as worn out and tired Nellus did. Emerald eyes watched him, set in sinking black pockets for eye sockets. He was just as sleep deprived.

“Sorry, _dad_.” Nellus flicked his mandible, a wry smile. “I could say the same. You’re _out_ late.”

Chellick pushed off the wall and approached him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Nellus’ mandibles pinched unwittingly against his face as he braced for impact. Here came the dress-down, and in the middle of his apartment corridor no less. He wanted to take a step back, to delay the inevitable despite knowing it wouldn’t help in the slightest. “You could have just called me into your office.”

“Yeah, but I spent that time trying to map out what I wanted to say.”

He felt his shoulders tense up. Damn it, couldn’t Chellick just get on with it? Hit him with the harsh truth that he’d already berated himself with so that he could finally rest. Nellus felt guilty enough as it was.

“I know I fucked up,” Nellus blurted.

“I’m sorry,” Chellick said simultaneously. Remorseful harmonics hummed around the separate apologies.

Chellick froze, his mandibles hanging slack from his jaw with a look of shock that quickly melted into concern. The kind of look that never failed to instill a sensation of deep, clawing discomfort. Nellus couldn’t help but glance between Chellick and his door to freedom.

“ _You_ fucked up?” Chellick questioned, staring as if Nellus had just shimmied out of his bedraggled uniform and shrugged on the robes of a Valluvian Priest. “How--? I’m the one that fucked up, Nellus.” Chellick’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I was pissed off and you got caught in the crossfire. I should have never-”

“All you said was ‘go back to my desk,’” Nellus pointed out. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

“I made you feel unimportant. As if you didn’t matter.”

Nellus’ gizzard constricted in his throat, suppressing the immediate response that threatened to fly from him. He hated the way Chellick was looking at him-- with pity reserved for some wretched creature. More so because _he_ was the cause of it and it would only worsen if he had allowed himself to say what he wanted to.

 _‘I am unimportant. In the greater scheme of things, I_ don’t _matter.’_ It was a harsh truth; an easy fact. Nothing to get upset over but he knew it wasn’t something Chellick wanted to hear. It would encourage him to argue and they’d be out there all night and Spirits he just wanted to get some _fucking_ sleep. Nellus endeavored to end the conversation with a smile. “It’s fine. No harm done. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.” With a grin-- that honestly felt more like a grimace- in place, he moved to pass Chellick but was stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question and Nellus barely refrained from wrenching out of his friend’s grasp. “Whatever you’re telling yourself inside that thick skull of yours, it’s complete varren shit. You’re important to me.”

“Chellick,” Nellus sighed, exhausted.

“A brother.”

Spirits, kill him now. This was not a talk Nellus wanted to have in the hallway or… ever. The earlier conversation with Sarah bobbed to the surface of his mind and how he had thought of Chellick when she asked about family. It never once occurred to him that Chellick might feel the same. Nellus always assumed that he was recognized for the tag-along that he was, latching on to Chellick throughout their careers at C-Sec.

Yet, there was a second voice in his head that whispered loudest of all; Chellick was only expressing this out of guilt. It wasn’t as though Nellus was vital to his well-being or contributed in any positive way to Chellick’s life. Chellick merely pitied him and had since the day he took the fall in the sergeant’s office and spent his evening scrubbing oil from porous wood.

Yearning for some much-needed distance, Nellus pulled from Chellick’s grasp but was careful not to step away too far as to escalate the situation. “I appreciate that. I do. But I’m fine.” Chellick opened his mouth, no doubt to argue so Nellus forged ahead before he could. “After I left, how went the rest of your-uh, meeting with Bailey?” Nellus made a show of looking his friend up and down, eyeing his civvies. “I hope your lack of uniform isn’t an indication of something.”

“Don’t think I don’t notice the change in subject,” Chellick warned, his green eyes glaring.

“All right, all right,” Nellus waved him off, inwardly praying that Chellick would drop the subject. “You’re sorry. I’m sorry. What happened with Bailey?”

Chellick continued to glower, his mandibles fluttering with silent frustration that he didn’t bother concealing. Yet, mercifully, he relented. “He can’t afford to lose one of his captains at a time like this and he knows it. Wouldn’t do anything but stir shit up.”

Nellus tilted his head. “So you hugged it out?”

Chellick snorted. “Hardly. But we’ll live. We have to.”

“We do.” Nellus nodded and covertly-- he hoped, anyway-- stepped toward his door, desperate to shut it between himself and another moment of this awkward conversation. “But if it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’m willing to put that off for tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”

“Right. Tomorrow, then,” Chellick affirmed with a compulsory nod.

Nellus felt Chellick’s eyes follow him as he moved toward his door. And while he keyed in the code, he tried to think of the politest way he could close the door behind him.

Chellick saved him the trouble. “I meant what I said. You don’t deserve even half the criticism you lump on yourself.”

The door opened but Nellus hesitated. He heard the words even if he couldn’t sympathize with them. He took a second to muster his courage before twisting on the spot.

Chellick had already walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update! I'm trying to get chapter 8 completed by next weekend as I really want to stay on the weekly schedule if I can, but there might be another delay. Thank you all for reading and leaving such sweet comments!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **My wonderful betas throughout this story:**  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
>   
>  **Note:** I hope you like dialogue...

“This isn't a burrito. This is a burri- _foot!_ ”

It was the beginning of his shift. The morning lull was still spread over D-24 as refugees were waking from their tents and prefabs. Those who were already awake kept their voices to a minimum-- the polites ones, anyway so the majority of the sound came from the overhead comm, announcing ship arrivals or calling for individual staff. In an hour, the walkways would be bustling but for now it was relatively peaceful.

Sarah bit heartily into the rolled breakfast item Nellus brought her that morning. He figured it would be a more substantial meal than ration bars and cereal. The detour did require him to leave fifteen minutes earlier than normal in order to beat the line at the kiosk and still get to work on time, but it was on the way.

“Keep feeding me like this and you'll never be rid of me.”

“Hm.” Nellus made a show of contemplation before holding out one hand to her with his palm open, as though he wanted it returned. “Better take that back then.”

“Nope.” She pulled the burrito to her chest, careful not to drip-- whatever the yellow stuff was-- onto her clothes. “Damage is done. I officially have something I'd kill for.”

Nellus chuffed and sat down at his desk. “The guy at the kiosk asked me what to put in it. I had no fuck-- uh,” he paused and scratched idly at his mandible, rethinking his word choice. “No clue so I just picked something off the menu. Glad it worked out.”

Sarah tried talking around a mouthful of food but abandoned her effort after Nellus tapped his temple, a reminder. Air rushed through her nostrils as she huffed a laugh, chewed, and then swallowed. “Oh. It works out. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” She held up her half-wrapped ‘burrito,’ eyeing it almost reverently. “Even with onions, this is good!”

“I have a co-worker who complains about onions a lot,” Nellus mused, remembering the time he watched Smith pluck unwanted bits and pieces from his food, a scowl on his face. “I take that it’s the kind of food you either love or hate.”

Sarah took another bite, this time waiting to finish chewing before giving her answer. “I guess so.”

“You can sit down if you like.” Nellus stood from his chair and pushed it to the side. “If you need a table.”

She was moving to sink her teeth back into her breakfast but froze mid-bite. “I couldn’t,” she said, withdrawing the burrito from her mouth to look at him. “I don’t want to take your seat.”

Nellus offered a half-shrug, a gesture that translated across species.“I can get another chair.”

She eyed the offered seat, her gaze shifting between the loosening wrapper around her meal and the inviting sheen of a firm surface from which to eat. Then, after a quick glimpse toward the window bay, her shoulders dropped and she smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

That was how Nellus found himself in the position of a babysitter and he had no one to blame but himself. Funny thing, he didn’t berate himself for making the offer. Sarah seemed so content with her burrito that he wouldn’t need to do much in the way of entertainment. After securing a new chair himself, they sat in silence while he went over shipping manifests-

“What does that do?”

Nellus glanced at her, finding her finger hovering just above the switch that activated the ramp to the holding cells.

“Flip it and find out.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look as if waiting for him to rescind the offer. When he didn’t, her finger descended upon it, sparing him one last glimpse to see if he would stop her-- Nellus tipped his head in assent. Gears whirred and clunked beneath them, heralding the floor parting behind their chairs.

Sarah leaped from her seat-- burrito still secured in hand-- and stared wildly between himself and the opened floor. It was an effort for Nellus not to laugh.

“Holding cells,” he explained, still comfortable in his own chair despite it lacking the mold his old one had taken to the shape of his ass.

“Like a jail?” she blurted.

“A temporary one. That’s where people go when they don’t take kindly to our cargo searches.” ‘ _Or when they’re shot full of holes,’_ he didn’t say.

“So then you get to sit here and listen to them curse your name from below?” she asked incredulously.

Nellus flicked his mandible. “You’re in the presence of a turian that has the distinct honor of being called every colorful name in the book in no less than fourteen languages.”

“That’s so cool,” she beamed.

Nellus blinked. “Maybe on some level,” he mused.

“What other secrets do you have hidden back here?” Sarah plopped back in her seat and flipped the switch again, resealing the floor.

 

* * *

 

Sarah remained with him throughout the rest of his shift that day. Periodically she’d fall asleep with her arms crossed and her head tilted against the back of the chair. Then she’d wake up and begin a new topic of conversation. She did most of the talking, Nellus noticed, but he didn’t mind and it would seem that neither did she.

“Okay,” she began, bracing her hands against the desk to twirl her chair to face him, legs tucked underneath her. “Two truths and a lie; my favorite color’s purple, I love strawberries, and I don’t know how to swim.”

Nellus, who had been typing away as she spoke, paused to shoot a sideways glance at her outfit. “Well, one of those is obviously true.”

Sarah snorted. “It’s a good color,” she countered, sweeping a hand down the front of her purple overalls.

Nellus went back to his terminal to finish the manifest he was working on. As he typed he explained, “You might find it interesting to know that turians can’t swim.”

Sarah unfolded her legs, placing her feet on the floor and her eyebrows darted upward. “Really?”

“Really,” he nodded, eyes still on the screen. “Unlike humans and your gelatinous bodies-”

Sarah made a sound of abhorrent disgust. “Please don’t use that word.”

“Squishy?”

“Squishy is fine.”

“Unlike humans and your squishy bodies,” he amended. “Turians are too dense. We sink.”

“Does that mean you’re afraid of water?” Sarah reached for the half-empty water bottle that she had brought with her that morning. “If I dump this on your desk, would it scare you?”

Nellus scowled and flicked his gaze to the bottle in question. “Scared, no. Irritated, yes. Turians are capable of _touching_ water. We _do_ shower. We just check how deep a pool is before we jump in.”

She made a show of securing the cap before setting the bottle down on the desk. “That’s fair.”

“And you just gave yourself away.” His attention shifted from the water bottle to her. “The lie is that you love strawberries.”

“What?” Blonde brows knitted together. “How’d you know?”

“You told me. Just now.”

“Dang it!” Her feet stomped down-- or tried to. They couldn’t quite reach the floor even on the shortest setting of his turian-styled chair. “I might like them if they didn’t make my throat swell up. That was a nasty surprise the first time my dad made me a PB-and-J.”

Nellus’ translator blipped. “A sandwich?”

“Yeah. You’ve never seen your human coworkers eat one?”

He tilted his head and leveled a dry look at Sarah. “Admittedly, I don’t make a habit of hovering over my co-workers while they eat their lunch. Somehow I don’t think they’d like me poking my talons into their food. Crazy, I know.”

Sarah giggled. “Yeah, probably not. Well, it’s just two pieces of bread with-- um,” her brow furrowed as she contemplated her explanation. “Paste spread on it-- I guess is the best way to describe it. They’re good… as long as it’s not strawberry because then I’ll die. Okay. Your turn.”

Nellus thought for a moment, stowing away the comment about strawberries just in case this breakfast thing became a routine. “I enjoy historical places, I routinely pick fights with a certain krogan, and my favorite color is red.”

Sarah went quiet, bracing an elbow on the desk and resting her chin on her knuckles, her expression studious. Her eyes tracked the red stripes on his face, likely wondering if they were indicative to one of his truths.

“You know, I can picture you watching historical documentaries,” she observed. “I can also see you picking fights with krogan.”

 _“Really?_ ” That was a surprise. He was a desk jockey, how could someone equate him with anything else?

Sarah ignored him, her posture unchanged. “ _Aaand_ I think there's more to those facial tattoos than your favorite color. I’m gonna say that’s the lie.”

Nellus trilled his second vocals, mimicking her impressed whistle from the other day. The joke must’ve landed if the smile that broke across her face was any indication. “You’re good,” conceded.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah came back the next day.

“Okay,” she began with a not-so-covert jerk of her head toward a pair of turians gawking at a nearby Avina terminal. The asari VI hovered before them, her translucent back to Nellus’ desk. “What do you think’s going on over there?”

It was a new game between them. They would pick out one or more persons from the crowd and assign them a character and try to guess their motivations for why they were there. All of them were people just going about their day, but that wasn’t how the game was played as Nellus quickly learned during the first round.

“They’re probably asking for directions.”

Sarah scoffed. “That’s it?”

“To the next drug deal,” he added. “Guy on the left has some debts to pay. His buddy on the right just wants it for himself.”

“A debt, huh?” Sarah braced her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand, a habit she seemed to be rapidly developing while she sat with him. She watched the turians as if they were stage performers. “To who?”

“The Pirate Queen of Omega, of course. She’s got him signed up as an indentured servant.”

As if on cue, the two turians turned to address each other. By the wild hand gestures and the intermittent flash of teeth, it was a disagreement. Ah, directions, an age-old topic of debate.

“I told you the goods weren’t going to be here,” she hissed in what had to be her best attempt at a turian voice. It sounded especially atrocious through her flat human tone.  

“And I told _you_ ,” Nellus played along, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as one of the distant turians pointed at his companion’s wrist. “To upgrade your omni-tool. We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“What’s wrong with yours?” Sarah countered as the far-off turian threw his arms up.

“I don’t have it anymore!” As if to deliberately counteract Nellus’ part, ‘his’ turian brought out his omni-tool. Nellus snorted. “Whoops.”

Sarah burst into laughter, her attention diverting from the bickering turians as she sent her chair into a spin. Privately, Nellus smiled and returned to his terminal.

They must’ve made an odd pair.

After a brief companionable silence, only filled by the sound of his tapping talons upon his interface and intermittent flashes of her omni-tool, Nellus was roughly pulled from his calm when he heard, “Heads up. There’s another turian coming our way.”

Peeking above his screen, Nellus’ chest tightened at the sight of a sea-green eye neighboring a black eyepatch.

_Felix!_

It had been a few days since Nellus last talked to him and even then it was a brief interaction over his pilot application. He looked tired, listless as he navigated around people on the pathway, and his prosthetic emitted a distinct noise as it met the floor with every other step.

It took every ounce of willpower not to smooth down his uniform, but Nellus was powerless to stop his thoughts from wandering to the current state of his fringe. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d buffed it. Needles and pins pricked annoyingly at his fingertips and he struggled on deciding what to do with them. He settled for resting them on the holo-keys, adopting what he hoped was a casual appearance. Internally, he counted down the seconds for Felix’s landing and when the time was right, he lifted his head and smoothly-- _he hoped_ \-- greeted: “Hey, Felix.”

“Hey,” he replied, flicking his remaining mandible into the crooked smile that was all his. “Been a while. You don’t come around anymore.”

“Sorry.” Nellus dipped his chin. “I guess I stopped when cards did. Probably a good thing. I only have so many creds to bid. Nitiria will have to hustle someone else.”

“She left for Sanctuary too. Probably cleaning out someone else's account by now.” His subvocals suddenly pitched with discomfort and it took Nellus only a second to find the source. Felix was standing with his damaged side closest to Sarah and the latter was doing a poor job of hiding her reaction to the vast array of scars and sharp teeth, windowless without a second mandible to cover them.

Nellus turned to Sarah, who suddenly found something exceedingly interesting on her shoes. “Sarah, this is Felix. He’s a good friend of mine. He’s frightening to look at, I know.” Nellus grinned at Felix, catching his eye. Also, ignoring the way his traitorous heart gave an annoying flutter when he caught a relieved glint in the reflection of sea-green. “But unless you’re wearing white and yellow, he’s harmless.”

Felix snickered-- _‘Get a hold of yourself!’--_ and smiled at Sarah, twisting so that his unscarred side was displayed to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. Did you land recently?”

She nodded stiffly and made a valiant effort to train her eyes on Felix’s remaining one. “Not super recently. Almost three weeks ago.”

Sensing her discomfort, Nellus added, “It’s her first time off-world.”

Turians were taught fairly early that, by nature, they were a little intimidating to other species who weren’t use to them, especially kids. The tall stature, sharp claws and teeth had a way of instilling a primal sense of fight or flight in most creatures. Certain protocols were taught when interacting with other species and they manifested themselves in Felix’s behavior, even if he couldn’t remember when he was taught.

Felix thrummed a sound of affirmation that Sarah wouldn’t hear and took a step back, putting distance between them. He kept his hands visible and tilted his head slightly to the side-- humans liked that for some inane reason. When he smiled, care was taken to crinkle the skin around his eye, as humans also tended to look for that in turian faces if they weren’t well-versed in their facial expressions.

“That’s exciting. Sorry this is your first introduction to the Citadel. Have you been able to see any more of it?”

Sarah relaxed slightly in her seat and offered her own tentative smile. “No. Just here.”

“Same.” Felix sighed lamentingly. “I’ve been stuck here for--” That damned, curseable, beautiful eye swiveled to Nellus. “How long, eight months?”

“ _Too_ long,” Nellus scoffed, trilling a derisive thrum that made Felix grin.

Redirecting his attention back to Sarah, he put his hands up in a show of sufferance. “Too long, apparently.”

Nellus opened his mouth, an offer on the very tip of his tongue, but after a second of thought, he closed it and resumed his silence. The thought of going somewhere with Felix, just the two of them, was one he didn’t want to spend entertaining. Felix wouldn’t want to go with him anyway.

“Where are you from?” she asked. It was a natural follow-up question, and given Felix’s unique circumstances Nellus would have expected some amount of avoidance. Maybe a tucked mandible or something, but no.

“Palaven.” The answer came easily as if repeated and practiced several times over. Then, to avoid further questioning, Felix pivoted the query. “You?”

“Terra Nova.”

Nellus endeavored to return to work as they chatted, but it was hard not to listen or watch their exchange. Unbeknownst to them, Sarah and Felix were demonstrating just how fucked up their days had become. It was unlikely that they would have ever stopped to have a conversation if not for the Reapers, let alone how unlikely it would be for Nellus to have met Felix. Well, outside of in passing if Felix’s ship were to dock at the station.

Watching them beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights, people milling about around them, it was easy to forget the horror inflicted on the rest of the galaxy. They had gotten a taste of it, sure, but nothing they couldn’t come back from. At that moment there was a calm that Nellus felt drawn to, relaxed in, like a cloud of steam after a warm shower.

Nellus drifted his gaze to the window, catching ships cut the artificial sky. Eventually, that shower door was going to get thrown open and all the warm, comforting steam would billow out, leaving the occupants exposed and trembling. The Reapers were coming for them and moments like this would be reduced to distant dreams. It was just a matter of when.

“Speaking of which, I came over for a reason-- You okay?” Felix was looking at him now, concern evident in the subtle twitch of his mandible.

Nellus collected himself, forcing a smile into place. “Yeah, sorry. Spacing out.”

“Ah. Well, welcome back.” Felix raised his arm and, to Nellus’ surprise, an omni-tool bloomed upon his wrist. “I have something for you. And keep your plates closed, it’s nothing special.” Nellus growled, just a low tremor to gain Felix’s attention before flickering his eyes stealthily at Sarah. Message received and an apology susurrated from Felix’s vocals. A second later, Nellus’ omni buzzed with an incoming notification-- Felix’s contact information. “Thought you should have it.”

Nellus stared blankly at the contact tab that popped up on his interface. A picture of a bashful-looking turian stared up at him from his holo-interface, having obviously taken his own picture knowing he only had half a face.

Someone-- other than Chellick-- just gave him contact info, out of the blue. Because they _wanted_ him to have it. These _were_ strange fucking times.

“When did you get an omni-tool?” And of course, that was the only question he could think to follow-up with.

Felix dropped both his newly-acquired ‘tool and his gaze. “The Posnions gave it to me before they left.” He shifted his weight to the prosthetic and then back again. “So they can find me after the war.”

Nellus sincerely hated that the first thought that came to his mind was not sympathy for Felix’s plight. It wasn’t of some sweet family that shelled out a couple of hundred credits for the chance of reuniting with who had practically become a surrogate son. His first thought was a realization that Felix was reaching out because he likely had no one else.

Spirits, what the fuck was wrong with him?

“I hope they do,” Nellus offered and then sent his own information over.

“Me too,” Felix agreed, checking his own device when the message reached it with a buzz. Confirming the exchange, Felix gave a slight jerk of his head back toward the camps. “I better get back. I’ve got stew cooking, but--” Felix rapped his knuckles twice on the desk. “Don’t be a stranger. You’re quite missed over there. Novius hasn’t stopped talking about your daring rescue, you know.”

“Novius, that sweet prince. Tell me, does he wait until after he’s finished pissing in the planters or does he tell these stories mid-stream?”

Felix laughed, though it was hard to tell if it was in reaction to the question or the revolted expression on Sarah’s face. Suddenly, every planter within eyesight was looked upon with critical scrutiny.

“Both,” Felix rumbled.

“Figures.”  

After Felix bid a farewell to both himself and Sarah and melted back into the crowds, Nellus watched him go. It was only after he heard an impatient grunt that he turned back to Sarah and found a smug smile waiting for him, a glint in her eye. He didn’t trust it.

“What?” he inquired.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She gesticulated vaguely with her thumb. “Should I…? I can go.”

“I don’t follow.”

Her smile widened, showing her flat teeth. “Not surprising given that _your_ eyes can’t seem to stop following _him_.” Her thumb changed direction, pointing where the ‘him’ in question disappeared.

Yep. He was right not to trust that look. Nellus glared, hoping she’d get the message, before turning back to his terminal.

“You like him!” She announced and though he wasn’t looking at her, he could hear the excitement laced in her voice. The squeak of her chair alerted to its closing proximity.

Nellus said nothing.

“He doesn’t know?”

He still said nothing.

“He doesn’t know,” she concluded. “Why doesn’t he know? And please don’t give me the whole ‘preserving our friendship thing-’”

“We are not talking about this,” he snapped, perhaps a little harsher than he meant to sound. His tone instantly scrubbed the enthusiasm from her face and he felt a pang of guilt when she turned away from him with a wilted, “Fine.”

No. He did not need to feel culpability for her disappointment. Sarah leaned back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. This wasn’t a topic worth discussing. Her eyes were fixed on the visible window ahead of them, though he knew she wasn’t actually watching anything in particular.

Nellus sighed.

“I don’t…” He suddenly found himself on the receiving end of her rapt attention. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Nicely played,” he conceited and she flashed a triumphant grin. “Information isn’t free, kid. If I tell you this, you have to answer a question of mine.”

“Deal.” Her hand shot out in an offering. Nellus took it.

“I don’t-- uh… do relationships.” It was foolish to hope that she would accept that as his only answer. When her expectant stare held firm, he struggled on. “See, the only relationship I’ve ever been able to maintain-- barely,” he added. “Is with a pip-squeak-turned-captain named Chellick.”

“Is that your brother from another mother?”

Nellus snorted. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“I know.”

His last ex, Talisa, danced into his mind for the first time in years. At just over a year, she was his longest relationship. They had met at a bar on one of his outings with Chellick and what was suppose to be a one-night-stand turned into a second date, which became a third. Before he knew it they were living together. It was fine until it wasn’t. They both worked and didn’t see each other often, establishing a distance between them that only grew and grew until it came to a head during an argument when she admitted, subvocals warbling with betrayal, ‘I don’t feel appreciated.’

Nellus remembered staring at her, his mouth open, ready to make the same claim, but then he closed it. The futility of it was so stark, so heavy, that his gizzard constricted in his throat under the sheer weight of it. Talisa had hugged herself around the middle, refusing to meet him and awareness cut into him like a sharp blade that he still felt today.

Nellus didn’t deserve her appreciation.

They had parted the next day. Of course, he said none of this Sarah.

“Relationships seem glamorous,” he explained slowly. “But they’re not like the vids. They’re more effort than I’m willing to put in.”

“ _Hm_ ,” Sarah hmm’d, not sounding at all convinced. “I would buy that if I hadn’t just watched you _look_ at him like they do in the vids. You don’t think you’d put the effort in for him?”

“Maybe,” Nellus acknowledged, allowing himself a brief reverie of a time he could be with Felix. Watching a vid together with a bowl of _graxen_ between them, running his hand along the length of Felix’s fringe. Or maybe they’d visit Palaven together and walk along ancient corridors of long-abandoned titan temples, with no one else around for miles. Nellus mentally shook the fantasy away. “But he’s also a refugee living out of a prefab. Do you think it would be appropriate for me, a cop, to pursue someone who is going through the worst time of his life?”

Sarah looked away, ashamed. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way.” She took a breath and looked up. “Sorry.”

Nellus smiled and waved it off. “No harm done. I’m happy being his friend. It’s better not to complicate matters.” A beat, then: “As cliche as it sounds.”

She huffed a laugh. “Okay, so maybe _now’s_ not a good time, but you should tell him eventually. Life’s short and all that.”

And there was that blinding optimism again. She spoke without taking the Reapers into account, without acknowledging the gross understatement she had just made. As if Commander Shepard would hit the kill switch that day and the war would be over and suddenly there was a future for him and Felix.

Nellus envied her.

Sarah must have taken his lack of response for wariness because she hurried to add, “I still think he should know--” The corner of her mouth twitched and she held up her hand, deploying her smallest finger. “But he won’t hear it from me. Promise.”

Nellus stared at her waiting hand, unsure of the meaning. He had thought himself quite well-versed in the nuances of human hands when he familiarized himself with the middle finger. This was something different. After several awkward seconds, she laughed and reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping around the digit farthest from his thumb. He let her pull his hand in and then she hooked her small finger around his.

“It’s called a pinky swear,” she explained. “My mom taught me. You can’t break a pinky swear.”

“I suppose it’s better than spitting in our palms and then shaking hands,” Nellus concluded. Sarah pulled her hand away, her face twisted in disgust. “Don’t look at me like that. It was _your_ species that came up with it.”

“Fine, fine.” Sarah pulled her hair over her shoulder and began playing with it, suddenly looking uncomfortable in her seat. “I didn't mean to stare at Felix. Do you think he noticed?” she asked with a grimace.

“He noticed,” Nellus admitted as gently as he could.

“Wait, did he tell you with?--” She stopped braiding her hair and tapped her throat with two fingers. Nellus had briefly explained subharmonics during their first conversation.

Nellus hummed and lowered his head. “Don't worry, he wasn't upset. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but he gets it all the time.”

Sarah winced, averting her eyes as she said: “That doesn't make me feel better.”

“You can apologize next time you see him, but I assure you he's not angry. Now, it’s my turn to ask a question.”

Sarah folded her legs up on the chair in a fashion that would be painful for a turian and braced her hands on her knees. “Shoot.”

“The other day, I couldn't help but notice the distance you were putting between yourself and a certain group of kids…” Nellus trailed off as Sarah’s lips were pressed into a fine line, her brows knitted, and she began to pick absently at her fingernails. He had struck a nerve. “Ah--” He lowered both his head and the volume of his voice. “Are they bothering you?”

Sarah was looking at her hands, lightly tugging at the joints of her fingers. “There’s--um…” she began haltingly, reaching up to rub the side of her eye socket. “They’re the reason I’m not hanging around the evacuee camp for humans. I show up for the supply handouts and then I leave.”

Nellus was quiet as he watched the small human wilt in his chair. After a moment, he gently pressed: “Were you followed here that day?” She nodded. “Was that way you were standing near my desk?” A pause, then another nod.

“I thought that if I stuck close to an officer, they’d leave me alone. You’re the only one I’ve really talked to so I hoped you wouldn’t mind.” She looked up and shrugged. “It worked.”

“Are they from your colony?” he questioned.

“We went to the same school. This has… Um…” Sarah stopped to furtively wipe at her eyes. “Kind of been an ongoing thing. They would poke at my arms and shoulders--” she criss-crossed her arms to rub her hands roughly up and down her sleeves as if to brush away biting insects. “And go on and on about how pretty I am, but… they say it in a joking way.”

Nellus never wanted to punch a kid so badly in his life, let alone three of them. There were three, weren’t there? He tried to picture their faces, his hand tightening into a fist. As he watched her, he couldn’t help but picture a scrawny Chellick sitting in her chair, picking at his talons… because of him.

“Did-- Do your parents know?” he asked.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’ve told them. They just say it’s because they _like me._ ” She sniffed and wiped at her eye again. “It’s okay. I’ve been careful to avoid them. They haven’t really been a problem.”

 _‘Yet,’_ was the unspoken word between them.

“Well,” Nellus pointed at the switch under his desk, drawing her attention toward it. “They bother you again, you come to me.” He flicked his mandible into a smirk he hoped she understood. “I’ll let you flip that switch personally.” A bright, watery smile broke across her face and she emitted a cough that could have passed for a laugh.

“Sounds good.” Sarah took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. After a gusty exhale, she pivoted the topic. “So… what did Felix mean about ‘keeping plates closed?’”

Nellus felt the very instant his smirk slid right off his face. “I’ll explain when you’re older.” He turned back to his terminal, determined to ignore Sarah’s immediate onslaught of, “Oh, c’mon!”

 

* * *

 

By the end of the week, Nellus grew accustomed to having a teenager hanging around. Even if she was only there for backup should her tormentors show up again, he didn’t mind. He even found himself watching out for them himself. Fortunately, they seemed to have lost interest, though Sarah wasn’t optimistic.

Chellick, on the other hand, was a bit dubious of her presence. At the end of Nellus’ shift, after he and Sarah parted ways, Chellick approached him in the locker room. Well, it was more like he materialized on the other side Nellus’ locker, catching him by surprise when he closed it.

“Why is there a teenager sitting beside you all day?” he asked, ignoring the startled look Nellus threw at him. “And give me a reason why I shouldn’t be concerned.”

Once Nellus recovered, he said: “I fed it some food and it’s been hanging around ever since.”

A single flare of his stony mandible was all the response Chellick gave, unamused. That was when Nellus knew he was going to have another late night. They didn’t go out for drinks, though. They went to Chellick’s office, which meant that this was a conversation between an officer and his captain.

Nellus explained the situation which seemed to satisfy the captain enough to crack his stoic mask, though he still didn’t smile. “Is this some kind of attempt to make up for what happened between us as kids?” he asked.

In truth, the parallels had crossed his mind, but Nellus had never considered his time with Sarah as some kind of atonement. “No,” he answered, easily meeting Chellick’s green gaze. “That’s not how I see it. I just see a lost kid that’s waiting for parents that are never going to show up. Least I can do is offer some conversation and some peace of mind from a group of shit kids.” Nellus paused to consider his next words. When he continued, even he was surprised at how easy they came to him. “And I don’t mind it.”

“ _You_ don’t mind babysitting all day?” Chellick didn’t sound convinced.

Nellus wasn’t sure what answer Chellick expected from him so he just offered a half shrug. “No.” And he couldn’t help the smile that came to his maxilla. “She’s a good kid. Reminds me of you when we were fledglings-- well, not the bullying part. She likes to ask a lot of questions.”

Chellick snorted. “Fine. Dismissed.”

Nellus stood from his chair and turned to leave without another word. It was when he reached the door that Chellick spoke again, this time there was a hint of humor in his voice. Nellus knew without looking that it was Decian who said, “Can’t say I ever pictured you with kids.”

Nellus paused, just for a moment, before he stepped passed the threshold and allowed the steel door to cycle shut between them.

The next day, Nellus sat alone at his desk. Nothing too unusual, Sarah didn’t always show up right away. But as the hours went by and the seat beside him remained empty, he started to look around for her.

What if those kids found her during the night?

What if she was stuffed into some air duct somewhere on the station?

Were the Keepers currently dragging her lifeless body through the vents while he sat there at his desk? He tried not to picture the image of her head thumping along every bolt and groove as she was pulled into the dark.

Then he saw her. Very much alive and walking-- slowly-- toward his desk. She was practically dragging her feet and her shoulders hung as if they bore a heavy weight upon them.

“Hey there!” Nellus greeted, hoping the relief he felt didn’t come through in his voice.

“Hey…” And that definitely didn’t sound like her. Sarah stood with her hands shoved in her pockets and her eyes on the floor.

“Lookin’ mighty low today.” He observed, unintentionally allowing his colonial accent to seep into his speech. “You okay? Anyone been bothering you?”

“No, it’s not that.” She still didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, I see. So… um,” he was floundering now. He wasn’t very good at cheering people up and by the look on her face, he’d say she had just learned something awful. He ventured: “Any news?

“No. They just-- Their shuttle must be real slow, that’s all.” She withdrew her hands from her pocket and finally peered up at him through watery eyes. “Do you think they’re ok? They promised they’d come get me, no matter what they had to do. But it’s been so long.”

Nellus’ mandibles pinched his jaw. For the short time that he’d known Sarah, she’d withheld her steadfast optimism that her parents would make it back. And though Nellus had done nothing to discourage it-- _at least he hoped not--_ he could see the cracks of doubt in her face now.

He knew all too well what those looked like.

“I don’t know, kid,” he said, leaning forward on the counter. “I’m sure they’d be happy, knowing you’re safe.”

“It’s just… I miss them.” Sarah pinched a trembling lip between her lip. “I miss them so much.”

Nellus hated that he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. _‘I’m sorry? They miss you too? They’ll get here soon?’_ They all sounded like useless platitudes that would only result in worsening the situation.

Before he could claw for something to say, Sarah walked away.

He could only watch her go, hoping she would be all right. There was a part of him that wanted to get up and just sit with her, even if he had nothing useful to say. At least she wouldn’t be alone. Yet, another side had to wonder what _he_ would want were he in her shoes. The answer to that was clear.

He would want to be alone.

Returning to his work, Nellus tried not to think about her crying alone in a sea of strange faces. He tried not to picture her sitting by the window, watching ship after ship land with nothing but disappointment.

He was abruptly dragged from his thoughts by the sound of a gunshot and a chorus of screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to introduce the bully thing because, throughout the in-game dialogue, the officer keeps asking if someone's bothering the girl. Maybe he had a reason to ask? He does now!
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta readers:  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 

A second gunshot went off by the time he’d vaulted from his chair, his sidearm in hand, and a third when he was halfway down the walkway toward the rapidly gathering crowd. Flashes of black and blue intermixed with the crowd signified C-Sec officers already on the scene, making him relax just a little.

At the sight of his armor, the crowd parted and, when he breached the sea of people, a gruesome sight awaited.

A redheaded human female lay dead at the scene with a second human, a male, just as motionless close by. Bullet holes in their bodies created mouths to tell the story.

The woman had one shot between the eyes. Black burns were indicative of point-blank range, not to mention the damage done to rest of her skull. The dead suspect nearby sported two holes in his back: an exit and an entry, both courtesy of the C-Sec officers that had been patrolling the area.  

Suicide by cop, then?

What could his connection with the victim be to incite this?

The other officers had already begun cording off the area, using their omni-tools to erect a blue barrier line around the scene, pushing the crowd back. Nellus joined them, running a line around the perimeter of the bodies, circling as people craned their heads around for a better look at the carnage.

He had completed two lines, starting his third when a blue gaze locked with his and he froze. A yellow-haired girl stared ashen-faced and trembling.

 _Sarah_.

Nellus moved between her and the scene, blocking her view with the bulk of his body.

“Go to my station,” he intoned softly. “Wait for me there, all right?”

“I saw him shoot her,” she whimpered, lip trembling around her words.

Despite his order, Sarah lingered, skin pale as a sheet. Her eyes trained on his face as if the thought of looking at anything else was too horrifying to even attempt. It was a look that translated across species, one he had seen too many times to count by that point.

He believed her.

“I know.” Nellus placed a hand on her shoulder. “They’ll want a statement from you.”

She flinched away not too unlike a varren whelp tossed into a fighting pit. “A statement? B--but-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Nellus hastened to calm her lest she bolt. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Who’s going to talk to me?” she interjected.

“I will.” He gave her shoulder a firm yet gentle shake. “I promise. Just wait by my desk.”

“I got her, Nellus,” an all too familiar voice stated. Another turian stepped through the crowd and behind Sarah, bringing Nellus face to face with a black eyepatch beside a lone, sympathetic eye.

Nellus thrummed his gratitude before squatting down, his knees cracking in the descent. Still careful to obstruct the gruesome scene behind him. “Sarah, go with Felix. I’ll be right there.”

“But-”

“Go.”

Sarah relented, nodding numbly before allowing Felix to guide her through the crowd and out of sight. Only the crest of her turian escort above the throng of people indicated her place in the congregation.

 

* * *

 

Later, when he finished securing the area and assisting the beat cops until the detectives showed up, Nellus was finally able to excuse himself from the scene and make his way back to his post. As expected, he found Felix occupying his own chair beside Sarah, who sat in her usual spot like a statue. Then she spotted him coming their way and she immediately moved to stand like a soldier dreading an incoming dress-down.

Did she think she was in trouble?

Nellus opened his mouth to assuage her fears and it remained open when he suddenly found himself on the receiving end of the hardest hug Sarah could likely manage with all his armor. He felt his posture go rigid at the unexpected embrace, his hands aloft in the air, unsure where to comfortably fall. All the while his mind frantically scrambled for protocol on the situation. Spirits, he could practically _picture_ the pyjak running on a wheel with which to power his brain.

He looked desperately to his friend, a vain attempt as Felix offered nothing useful in return. Only a pitying look that he directed at the back of Sarah’s head. At least Nellus had the wherewithal not to awkwardly pat Sarah on the back. Instead, he placed his hands on her small shoulders and lightly pushed her away.

She sniffed and looked up with watery eyes.

“I saw the whole thing,” she breathed. “I saw it. I saw it. I saw it.” She shook her head side to side, falling into a confessionary loop.

“Hey, hey,” Nellus soothed-- or tried to and crouched down, his hands remaining on her small shoulders. “You’re okay.”

Sarah winced, loosening tears down her cheeks. “But _she’s_ not.”

“No,” he concurred softly.

A soft weight barely registered through the ceramic pauldron of his left shoulder. Just a brief touch from a concerned friend. The meaning clear-- _I’ll leave you to it._ Talons gently skated across his armor before Nellus heard the sound of Felix’s prosthetic against the steel floor with every other fading step.

“Do you want to sit down?” Nellus asked.

“No,” she declined.

“All right. I’ll sit.” Nellus moved behind his station and took the seat Felix had just vacated. He patiently watched Sarah with the desk between them, partly expecting her to run. When she made the decision to slowly approach, he set his omni-tool to record and asked: “Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I’ve talked to her before, from time to time,” she began, her gaze fixed firmly on the chrome finish of his desk. “H-her name was Kelly. She was nice to me.”

Nellus dipped his chin, dreading the answer to his following question. “Were you talking to her when it happened?”

To his private relief, Sarah shook her head. “No. I was just walking that way. I needed to clear my head after…” she hesitated. “You know-- this morning. She usually waves when I pass by so I looked up like I always do-- I didn’t want to be rude. And that guy was in front of her.”

“Did she look like she recognized him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I heard him ask...” She cringed and encircled her belly with her arms. With a cracking voice, she continued: “‘Are you Kelly Chambers?’ She said ‘yes’ and he pulled out his gun a--and shot her.” After a breath, Sarah turned her attention back toward the scene, as if looking through the mass of people that blocked her view. “Right in front of the other officers. They shot him right after.”

Watching Sarah’s face awash with pain, hugging herself around the middle, made Nellus feel useless. She needed her damn parents, not some emotionally stunted turian staring at her, wondering what the fuck to say.

With Felix, he would deflect to humor because it was a habit they both shared. They laughed at themselves and their shitty situations. Chellick did too, to an extent, but Nellus’ modus operandi with him was to nudge a drink his way, a gentle reminder of Nellus’ limitations, but that he was still there should he need him.

None of those were going to work with Sarah right now.

Nellus deactivated his omni-tool. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told her.

Sarah hesitated, still watching the crowd before she turned back to him. “That wasn’t my first time seeing something like that,” she quietly admitted.

Of course it wasn’t. He could only imagine what horrors she experienced prior to making it to the escape shuttle. Inwardly, he kicked himself for his krogan-fisted response.

“I should’ve figured,” he acknowledged, rubbing his talons through his fringe as he tried to sort out the words in his head before speaking again. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Sarah eyed him for a moment before flickering her attention to the vacant seat beside him. After a moment, she relented and moved around the counter to take the chair. Once seated, she immediately tucked her legs up in front of her, hugging her knees and not meeting his gaze.

“It’s okay,” she began.  “I saw lots of bodies before I got here. So that’s not why I’m so freaked out. I didn’t _know_ any of those people though and I know my parents tried to shield me from a lot of it, but it wasn’t so... I don’t know…”

“Cold-blooded?” he offered. _Hastatim_ soldiers unwittingly came to mind, knocking on doors and gunning down those who answered. Nellus knew what brutality looked like.

“I guess.” She looked at him cautiously, as if expecting a rebuke.

“This was a personal attack,” he endeavored to clarify. “Rather than random. Is that it?”

She shrugged. “I know that shouldn’t matter. The Reaper monsters are… _horrifying._ But they’re more animalistic than anything. You can see them coming and you know what they’re gonna do. This guy just… looked like a normal guy.” Her blue stare intensified. “And he _planned_ this. Why would he do that?”

Nellus could think of any number of reasons. Indoctrination, revenge, desperate for attention, under the influence of some rage-inducing drug, or maybe just plain crazy. But these were the thoughts of a jaded mind, he knew. Not of a thirteen-year-old with parents who obviously did their best to protect her from such aspects of the world.

“I don’t know, kid.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah waited at his desk while Nellus gave her statement to Chellick and returned to the crime scene to help clean up after the coroner had arrived for the bodies. By the time he sat back down, most of his shift was over. He had just enough time to make a small dent in the shipping manifests but that task was made difficult by the little human beside him.

Not that she was loud or distracting. Quite the opposite. She was dead silent. Every now and again she’d poke at her omni-tool, probably checking for messages that would never come. But, for the most part, she just sat there, arms wrapped around her knees, with her forehead resting on her arms, her face hidden.

Spirits, but she’s had a hell of a day.

When the end of his shift came, he still found himself at a loss-- certainly not for the first time that day _-_ \- on what to do. ‘ _Sorry for your trauma, but it’s ‘bout that time again. Run along now.’_ She kept glancing up at people that walked too close to the desk, terrified that one of them would ask for her name and then shoot her, too. The thought of leaving her alone another night, after what she had gone through, just seemed absurd.

“Kid?” Nellus dropped his voice to a register she could still hear, hoping it was as soothing to a human as it would be to a turian.

Sarah peeked out from her cocoon of arms and legs. “You have to leave now?” she asked, her tone tentative.

“Yeah, but… if you want, I have a couch.”

Slowly, her head lifted from her arms and she peered at him questioningly. “Are you asking me to go with you?”

“If you want to,” he affirmed. “It’s not the most comfortable thing, but it probably beats the window bay. I hope it does, anyway. It’d be pretty sad if it didn’t.”

A smile, small as it was, cracked through the visage of misery. “Are you sure? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“I’m sure.” Nellus flicked his mandible. “You don’t have to stay out here another night.”

 

* * *

 

 

At the end of his shift, Nellus left Sarah waiting in the lobby while he went to the locker room to change out of his armor. He had initially suggested his desk, but after watching her lips tighten into a thin line, he reconsidered. The last thing Sarah wanted was to be left alone in a crowd. She had even asked him to go with her while she fetched her backpack from the window bay. He wondered how she would feel about riding on the public transit. That thought came to mind while he was in the middle of tucking away his cuirass into the locker.

She would get on the shuttle, he knew, but he doubted that she would be comfortable trapped in a crowded metal tube.

What if they didn’t have to take the shuttle?

Nellus closed his locker and made a quick trip to Chellick’s office before he swung by the lobby to collect his charge. She was sitting on the bench when he found her, hugging her napsack securely to her stomach-- guarding her torso, he quietly noted.

“Ready to go?” He asked, catching her off guard. Sarah snapped her attention off the floor and gave only a silent nod. “You ever ride in a police car before?”

It was a short walk to the garage where the C-sec skycars idled. And though it was subtle, he couldn’t help but notice the pep in Sarah’s step as she followed behind.

“This is so cool!” She exclaimed as she scrambled into the passenger seat and buckled herself in.

Nellus couldn’t help the smiling flick of his mandible while he busied himself with the holo-interface. Within seconds the engines hummed to life and the car lifted from the ground like a beast awakening from its slumber. He then disengaged the autopilot and took hold of the yoke to spin the vehicle toward the garage doors.

After receiving a signal from their car, a stripe of artificial blue sky steadily widened as the doors parted. Once enough space was allotted for them to pass, he punched the throttle. The engines roared loud enough to almost drown the whooping sound Sarah made as they sped out into the open air.

Sarah instantly glued her face to the window, watching Citadel life below. From this height, they could see the curve of the Presidium and while the scars from the Cerberus attack still plagued the walkways and some of the gardens it was beginning to return to normal. Sarah did not appear to notice, her eyes were wide with what could only be called wonder. It occurred to Nellus then that she had yet to leave the docking bays. This was all new to her.

“They have many cities on Terra Nova?” he asked, bringing them up into the stream of traffic.

“Not like this,” she replied with her face still pressed against the window. After a moment, she tore herself from the sight of the sprawling ward and turned to look at him. “We lived more on the outskirts of town.” Sarah paused for a moment, staring. “You forgot to buckle up.”

“What?”

“Your seatbelt.” She pointed at the unused auto fastener at his hip. “You didn’t put it on.”

“Oh.” Nellus’ mandibles pinched against his jaw, ashamed of his slip-up. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to fasten the safety belt when in a skycar. It was a neglectful habit born from his darkest moments. Moments in which he was just too tired, too numb. When, after getting behind the wheel, he’d privately hope for an accident that would kill him. That way it wouldn’t be considered suicide and Chellick wouldn’t be left kicking himself for not noticing whatever signs Nellus might’ve given off.

It would just be another tragic incident. Another statistic to add to the driver's education classes about the importance of safety.

They happened all the time.

“Are you going to put it on?” Sarah prodded.

“Yeah.” Nellus reached behind his head to draw the four-point harness from the retractor at the top of the seat. It was dragged down over his chest and snapped it into place at either side of his hips. “I forgot.”

Well, it wasn’t a _complete_ lie.

“What kind of music you got stored in this baby?” She leaned forward to mess with the controls standard in most skycars- the music channels.

“Depends on which officer drove it last.”

A sound that could only be called a cacophony croaked and wheezed from the speakers, causing them both to flinch away, Nellus more violently than Sarah. Vibrations beat obnoxiously against the lining of his cowl, echoing up through his aural canal like a marching band through a sleepy town.

Through the roaring haze, Sarah hurried to spin the volume down with a twirl of her finger.

“What the _heck_ was that?” she exclaimed, twisting in her seat to shoot him a bewildered look.

Sounded like a damn salarian orgy, he almost said. “To take a guess, salarian music.”

Sarah glanced at the player as if it had sprouted teeth. “Different tactic-- I’ll sync my omni and pick music from there.”

“Hold on,” he cautioned, cutting her a suspicious look just as her wrist glowed orange. “ _Your_ music?”

“Yeah. It’s great!” She flashed a grin before returning to the ‘tool.

Nellus had his doubts and they were only confirmed when the speakers buzzed an all new sound that was almost as obnoxious as the first.

“This is your music, huh?” His cynical stare had yet to let up but neither had Sarah’s bright smile.

“Defense of One!” She crowed and threw herself dramatically against the seat, reclining it for added effect. “They speak to my soul.” Pale arms stretched for the ceiling as she began caterwauling the lyrics.

“Who sings this again?” Nellus didn't bother to hide the satirical shade to his tone, but Sarah wasn't baited.

“I do!” she declared, glowering at him. Though her comical position and the smirk on her face robbed the glare of any vitriol. “Oldest trick in the book. Gotta try harder than that.”

 

* * *

 

 

After a brief stop in Zakera ward to pick up some levo products and a privacy screen-- Sarah had selected one with purple flowers against a powder-blue field, they stood together outside his apartment door. Nellus held the screen folded up underneath one arm while he punched in the code to the holo-interface on the door. Then it opened and he suddenly had to decide how to introduce Sarah to her new home-away-from-home. What was the phrase she had said to him?

From the doorway he could woefully take stock of all the things he’d neglected to clean. He hadn’t expected company, after all. Dishes were piled in the sink, gun parts were scattered on the kava table, and he had more than a few parcel boxes stacked against the wall beside the entrance.

“It isn’t much, I know,” he gestured her inside and fell in step behind her.

“It’s perfect,” she insisted, placing her backpack on the couch while her eyes took in her surroundings. She then regarded him with a soft smile. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.”

“My room’s just down the hall, if you need anything. Bathroom’s across from it.” Nellus laid the privacy screen on the kava table, careful not to send any oily parts down to stain the shabby carpeting. Twisting back to the couch, he bent to hook his talons under the armrest. “Here, I’ll move this.”

With a bit of effort, and some help from Sarah, they shoved the couch into a corner so that the screen could double as both an extra wall and a door. Then Nellus grabbed some blankets and an old pillow from a closet-- a set he hadn’t used in months as he kept washing and reusing the ones on his bed-- and fit them over the couch.

“Do they feel all right?” he asked when Sarah ran her hand along the fabric. “They’re supposed to protect furniture from our plates.” Nellus deliberately tapped the sharp point of his keel. “So they probably don’t feel like sheets you’re used to.”

Sarah plopped herself down on the couch, stretching out to fold her arms behind her head atop her new pillow. Her former ‘pillow’ rested within reach on the floor where it belonged, stocked with fresh levo snacks, soaps, and other human necessities. Sighing, she pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Beats a space blanket, that’s for sure.”

Nellus took a step back to admire their handiwork. The new position of the couch allowed the screen to create a small, yet private sleeping area for Sarah to call her own. He wasn’t using it much these days anyway. They had also converted the oil-splotched kava table into an impromptu nightstand. He figured it was a better option than one of the parcel boxes, which was what she had initially gone for.

Turning to leave, Nellus paused at the gap he’d created between the screen and the wall as a thought occurred to him. “There’s a game station linked with the vid-screen, if you get bored.” He peered to the dusty system across the living room, stripped bare of the two furniture pieces that had predominantly filled the space. “Can’t remember the last time I played it, but it should still work.”

When he didn’t receive a reply, Nellus checked over his shoulder. Sarah was already fast asleep, curled in the blankets for what he hoped would be the first of many peaceful nights for her. It was a futile thought, he knew. Tomorrow she’d wake and her parents will still be gone and she’ll still be stuck on that miserable station with him. But if something as simple as a quiet place to sleep could provide a few hours of relief he was happy to be useful.

Nellus quietly stepped across the living room toward the hallway, the lights darkening behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers!  
> This completes the first arc of this story. From here on out we're ramping up for the arrival of the Reapers because they still have the Citadel in their sights. Until then, I'm going to take a short break to catch back up on the chapters again. IRL, I've taken work with a separate company, through my current job, and it has got me super busy. Also, as much as Nellus has captured my heart, I miss Adrien Victus like crazy and I want to dedicate some writing time, scant as it is, to [Begin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520101/chapters/38951702). I've gotta get Shanxi out of my head!  
> Thank you all so much for coming back to read! Please know that I'm still _super motivated_ to finish this story and I promise not to leave it on hold for too long. In the meantime, if anyone wants to message me, you can find me at [Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/s0me-writer)  
> ~ Some_Writer


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Hello, everyone! My deepest apologies for the long wait but I swear it wasn't solely due to procrastination. Thank you for not giving up on me. Life got super busy for a while and it _really_ drained me of any opportunity to write. I've been chipping away at this chapter for a long time and then some, so Chapter 11 won't be nearly as far away. I promise! Until then, please accept this 'slice of life' segment because, very soon, things are going to be a lot less peaceful for poor Nellus. As we all know, the Reapers have not forgotten about the Citadel. ** 
> 
>  **My lovely beta-readers:  
> **  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> [White_Aster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster).  
> [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/pseuds/Kuraiummei).  
> 

Per usual, Nellus’ clip-on alarm clock shook him from the comfortable embrace of sleep. He promptly saw it off on its routine trip into the wall across the room. Fifteen minutes later, the dulcet tones of his alarm V.I began harping the time and where his presence would be most appreciated. 

_“The time is 0615. Your shift begins in seventy-five minutes.”_

Groaning, he rolled over and slid his hands underneath his pillow, relishing the cool feeling that met his fingertips. It almost felt good enough to mentally escape the V.I’s on-the-minute badgering. 

_“The time is 0616. Your shift begins in seventy-four minutes.”_

Distantly, a part of him wondered just how loud the voice was. If someone was standing outside his door, would they hear it? What if they were in the living room? Nellus’ eyes snapped open as the events of yesterday kicked down the door of repressed memories and stormed to the forefront of his mind like a belligerent houseguest.   

_‘Sarah!’_

Throwing the blankets off, Nellus scuttled out of bed and made for the door, stopping only to silence his vexing V.I. Turning down the hallway and entering the living room, Nellus winced as the motion detector flicked on the lights, illuminating the previously darkened space.

_‘Shit.’_

He froze, listening for signs of a disturbed sleeper. All he picked up was the sound of a startled snort and then nothing; just rhythmic breaths from behind Sarah’s privacy screen. Letting out the breath he was holding, Nellus retreated to the bathroom, the lights darkening behind him, leaving his sleeping guest in peace while he began his morning routine. 

It wasn’t until he was showered and dressed that he returned to hover at the mouth of the hallway, stuck between staying put and stepping in front of the motion detector again. He didn’t want to wake Sarah. Spirits knew she needed rest after what happened yesterday and his couch was the first-- relatively-- comfortable place she’s had access to in weeks. Still, he didn’t feel right just leaving without a word. She probably wouldn’t appreciate waking up alone in a strange place. 

Nellus quietly stepped across the living room, setting the lights to half-brightness before he tapped his claw against the flower-printed screen. “Sarah?” 

But his summons went unanswered. That presented him with a new problem: what was the proper thing to do in this situation? Should he just leave and let her figure out where he’d gone on her own? He could always send a message to her omni-tool. 

Targeting the yellow center of a purple flower, he tapped his talon again. Hopefully he wouldn’t startle her by increasing the volume of his voice. “Sarah?”

Still nothing. 

Nellus eyed the gap between the screen and the wall. Would it be rude to pull it back and check on her? The screen was there for a reason and he didn’t want to violate her privacy. At the same time, he needed to get to work. 

It was around that time when his sense of self-awareness kicked in. How awkward he must have appeared, frozen while he deliberated the consequences of waking a teenager. 

 _‘She’ll be fine,’_ he reasoned as he turned for the door.

 _‘There’s levo food in the fridge.’_ He exited his hovel and began his trek down the hall toward the lift. 

 _‘If she needs me, all she needs to do is hail a cab for C-Sec HQ,”_ he told himself, stepping into the lift. 

 _‘Does she know how?’_ The question chilled his mind as the lift doors began to slide closed. 

 _“Nellus?!”_ The sound of his name reached him on a current of fear and his hand reacted in kind, slipping between the doors to stop them. As they parted, he poked his head out and peered down the corridor toward his apartment. He spotted a very anxious-looking human standing outside, wringing her hands as she looked around. 

“Right here!” He called and stepped out into the open. It was an effort not to wince when he saw her shoulders drop, relieved at seeing him. Damn it. He should have woken her. “Just heading to work.” 

“Oh,” she quietly replied, though still loud enough for him to catch. Blue eyes dropped to the floor and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 

Rather than continue shouting down the hall, Nellus closed the distance between them, stopping just a meter away. He tilted his head. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes still fixed on her bare feet. “I just woke up and… I don’t know. I was alone and I guess I panicked a little.” 

“I tapped on the screen, but you didn’t answer.”

Sarah raised her gaze, a timid smile quirking her mouth. “You’re gonna have to do more than tap. Mom says I sleep like the dead. She pinches my nose when she needs to get me up. Works every time.”

Nellus chuckled and brandished his taloned hand. “Probably not the safest method for me.” 

Her timid smile broadened. “No, I guess not. Well, I definitely woke up when the front entrance closed.” 

That wasn’t a positive thing. That meant she was on edge, that her brain was keyed in on the only entrance when she should have been resting. Nellus wondered if she had woken at all during the night, eyes on the portion of the screen that concealed the door. Did she pull the sheet up to her chin, terrified of a gunman entering his apartment to ask for her name?

“I’ll just shake you next time.”

Sarah scoffed and her face twisted into something resembling disgust. “That’s the worst way to wake up.” 

“Worse than closing off your nostrils?” 

“Yes.” Her attention flickered to his hand, now down at his side. “But I guess it beats getting stabbed in the face by those finger-knives of yours.” 

Nellus flicked his mandible into a grin. “I’d say so, yeah.” Raising his wrist, he checked the time on his omni-tool. No way of avoiding tardiness today. He would need to send a message to Chellick. “Well, you’re up now. Did you want to come with me?” 

He received his answer in the form of an eager nod. Nellus jerked his head at the front door. “Go get changed. If you hurry, we can catch breakfast on the way.” 

He never saw a human disappear so fast. 

 

* * *

 

For the first time in so many years, Nellus was developing a new morning routine. Yes, his alarm clock still took daily trips to the wall-- it was a wonder it still worked-- and he continued to contemplate his sanity in the decision to install a morning V.I. In the shower, a single green eye glinted when he closed his own, but the day-to-day procedure shifted after stepping from the bathroom. He would dress, walk into his kitchen heedless of the motion detector triggering the lights, and grab two nutri-bars from his cupboard; one for him to be eaten immediately, and a levo one to be eaten later. 

Resting the levo bar on the counter and pinching his own between his teeth, he’d cross the livingroom to the privacy screen. His once timid taps evolved into assertive knocks, mere formalities as he knew the sound was ineffective at breaching Sarah’s sleep threshold. 

“Sarah!” he’d call, his speech slightly garbled by the torn chunks of his breakfast on the back of his tongue. Predictably, the only response he would get, if any, would be a reluctant groan. He took a second bite of his bar, a pause to give the sleeping human a chance to wake on her own-- after a week, she hadn’t yet-- before pulling the screen from the wall. 

Nellus would have to maneuver himself in the cramped space, stepping around an increasingly cluttered kava table to the sleeping human sprawled unceremoniously on the couch. Sometimes she would be twisted in the most perplexing positions he thought only possible by the most inebriated of passed-out drunks. It was truly a wonder how she slept so soundly and an effort for him not to laugh. After the third day of witnessing her deep-sleep contortion act, he stopped trying.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” he chuckled as he extracted the back of her elbow from her eyes-- _how?--_ and gave it a shake. Sarah replied with a grumble and twisted away to press her face into the sofa cushions. Nellus reached for her ankle-- it was thrown over the back of the couch-- and gave it a light tug. His hand was promptly kicked away.

“Five more minutes!” she whined, concealing her face with the pull of a sheet.

“We don’t have five minutes.” After just the second day, that line had become a lie. Nellus was quick-- and reluctant-- to set his alarm ten minutes earlier to allow time for this particular part of his new routine. “If you want breakfast-” He gripped the sheet and ripped it from her iron-like grasp “-move it or lose it, kid.” 

Sarah still shied away from crowded public transport, but Nellus couldn’t justify summoning a police cruiser every day for a ride. There were only so many idle at one time and they were needed for emergencies. Their joyride, while fun, had to remain a special occasion, so his next step involved calling a cab, usually from the comfort of his hallway. The bare walls were comfortable to lean against while he waited for Sarah to roll off the couch and stumble her way to the bathroom. He needn’t look up from his omni-tool while casually holding the levo bar out like an offering to be snatched by a dazed, groggy beast. 

Nellus tried not to wince at the total cost of daily cab rides. It was worth Sarah’s peace-of-mind and, admittedly, the Citadel seemed more… alive when viewed from the skies. More of a bustling metropolis with traffic and bright, chrome buildings and less like a festering cesspool of disease and despair as seen in the tram tunnels. Besides, they could tackle Sarah’s anxiety at a later time, when Reapers weren’t on their doorstep. 

Nellus’ mind snagged on that thought and failed to tug free. Sitting in the backseat of the cab, he turned his gaze to the human beside him. Her face was pressed against the window, watching the Citadel below. 

What would happen after the war, assuming they survived it? Until now, he hadn’t paid much thought to what would come next. He supposed she would go off with whoever next-of-kin she had left once they were found. This was likely a temporary set-up, a better option than a duracrete bench in a crowded station. It was better to think of what she needed in the now rather than the future. 

If the Reapers win, there won’t be a future.

After a brief stop at Sarah’s favorite burrito stand, they arrived at C-Sec HQ. Per usual, she waited in the lobby while he changed in the locker room before they set off for Docking Bay D24. At his desk, they took their habitual places where Sarah unwrapped her breakfast burrito, took a bite, and launched her first question of the day.

“So… volus.” Nellus was in the process of logging into his terminal. After typing in his code, he glanced up to find her gaze had wandered after a passing volus family. “They have a connection with turians, right?” 

“You could say that,” he replied, watching the family of three waddle into the crowd and disappear. Sarah was silent, waiting for him to continue, apparently unsatisfied with his answer. "It's like…” He paused to search for the word. Science class was many years behind him. “What do you call when two species live together? They benefit each other?"

“Oh!” Sarah pounded her fist lightly on the desk as if the beat would summon a repressed lesson. When the realization struck, she snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "A symbiotic relationship."

“That’s it.” He nodded. “My people agreed to keep slavers and pirates away from their colonies and research teams and, in exchange, they keep our economy running. Turians are supposed to be good at killing things and volus are generally good at numbers. You need both to survive in this fuc--uh… messed up galaxy.” 

Confusion-- or maybe unsettlement-- was quick to snuff her excitement. "So... they're like suckerfish attached to your side, keeping you clean in exchange for protection?"

That… was a mental image Nellus could have gone without. "Uhh... sure."

Sarah opened her mouth as if to speak but then closed it again. 

Against his better judgment, Nellus asked, “What?” 

“Have you… have you ever killed anyone?” The hesitancy behind the question manifested itself in more ways than just a waver in her voice. Her bottom lip tucked itself between her flat teeth and she watched him as if nervous for his response. That, or maybe she was gauging whether or not he was someone to fear as well. 

“I was a soldier,” he told her simply, dipping his chin. “Like your sister. Would you ask her that question?” 

“No, but… I’ve wanted to.” 

“Because you already know the answer?” 

Her hands twisted together on her lap. “I guess, but…”

“What you want to know is if I’ve ever killed someone like that gunman you saw?” It wasn’t a question and Sarah’s answer wasn’t delivered verbally. Instead, her gaze dropped to her feet, ashamed. As Nellus opened his mouth to speak, he tried to keep oily memories from seeping into his tone. Orders he had hated but followed anyway. Screams of protest from Separatists families. Guns roaring down the line of a firing squad. “I was a soldier.” 

Sarah didn’t say much else that day, though Nellus took heart in the fact that she didn’t immediately get up and leave. Of course, all her stuff was back at his apartment so it wouldn’t exactly be convenient for her to go just yet. Maybe he would wake up the next morning and find her gone from his living room.

Nellus blinked at his screen, willing away thoughts of Sarah curled up beneath her space blanket on a slab of duracrete. A feeling like ropes tightened around his gut. 

It was when the dusk lights turned out, bathing the walkways in hues of orange that Sarah spoke up again. 

“Can you teach me to shoot?” 

Nellus’ fingers froze on the holo-keys halfway through typing in his logout code. The black dots that represented his password blinked at him, unfinished. He would have to delete and then retype it as he couldn’t remember which digit he stopped at. 

Nellus turned his gaze to Sarah, finding her chair rotated to face him. He was met with a look of unwavering resolve. “‘That what you’ve been thinking about all day?” 

“I want- no. I _need_ to learn to defend myself.” The wheels of Sarah’s chair squeaked as she rolled herself closer. “The next time I see the Reapers, I don’t want to run while someone shields me from what’s happening.” Blue eyes dropped to the sidearm at his hip before rising back to his face. “When I see the Reapers again, I want to be ready. And please don’t say that I’m too young!” she added, leaning forward earnestly in her seat. 

After all that Sarah had been through and seen in her young life, Nellus wouldn’t dream of telling her that. “I wasn’t going to say that.” 

Sarah’s knitted eyebrows shot up as determination gave way to surprise. “You weren’t?” 

“No.” 

“Because it seems that’s all my parents have been telling me throughout this shit-storm.”

“Language,” Nellus reminded her gently. That was the appropriate response, wasn’t it? He didn’t know much about parenting, but he had some experience in the _‘fake it ‘till you make it’_ method.

“Sorry.” She amended quickly before launching into a tirade that Nellus suspected had been brewing long before she had even set foot on the station. “But when I asked to do anything during this war it was always the same answer. I wanted to volunteer at the evacuation center back home and it was--” Her voice shifted to something vaguely masculine. “-- _you're_ _too young, Sarah._ When that got overrun, I wanted to help get people out but, _‘you’re too young, Sarah--’”_ Her voiced altered again, this time taking on the persona of, presumably, her mother. “When I offered to help bury the dead: _‘you’re too young, Sarah._ When the shuttle came down and I wanted to stay with my parents--” Sarah broke off abruptly, squeezing her eyes shut like valves, stemming the tears that threatened to leak. 

To her credit, none did. 

Her eyes only opened again when Nellus rested a hand on her shoulder. “You done?” He pretended not to notice the tremble to her bottom lip as she nodded. “I wasn’t going to say that because the average turian learns to shoot by age eight. If anything, you’re overdue.” 

The brightest smile he had seen all day broke across Sarah’s face and she emitted a bark of laughter that made his mandibles twitch. “Five years overdue!” she agreed, leaping to her feet. “So when do we start?” 

Nellus spared his quiet apartment a longing thought before he turned back to his terminal and retyped his code, logging himself out for the day. “Tonight,” he said, standing from his chair. 

“Yes!” Sarah crowed loud enough for Felix to have heard in the camps. 

 

* * *

 

Before arriving at the range, they had spent a couple hours at home going over gun safety, mechanics, and stances. It was around 2000h when they arrived at Armax Arsenal and then spent an additional forty-five minutes reviewing until Sarah’s eyes glassed over. Nellus could sympathise; he found this part mind-numbing when he was her age. Finally, after revisiting proper footwork, he gave her the go-ahead to switch the safety off.

“ _Uhhg!_ Missed again!” Sarah lamented for the umpteenth time that hour, scowling at the vaguely-human-shaped hologram across the range. Though it lacked facial features, it somehow still managed to taunt its assailant simply by remaining intact. “This is harder than it looks.” 

“Your stance needs work,” he coached, eyeing the unharmed target. 

_“What?!”_

Glancing down, Nellus encountered a cheeky smile, ears boxed in by oversized headphones provided by the shooting range. Like all C-Sec officers, he was fortunate to be outfitted with a removable earchip that provided the same protection with none of the drawbacks of noise cancelling headphones. Loud bangs were filtered while still allowing voices and music to get through. They were especially handy at concerts, or so he was told. Not that he'd ever been to one.

Nellus snorted and reached for the closest earmuff to pull it away from the side of her head. “Your feet,” he said, flickering his eyes down to her shoes and back up again.

“ _Dang it!_ I did it again.” Sarah had a tendency to turn her toes in when she placed her feet shoulder-width apart, throwing off her balance. Nellus kept a hold of the earpiece while she adjusted her toes.

“Try again,” he instructed before allowing the headphone to settle back against her ear and took a step away. She fired, missed, and glared at the obstinate hologram. 

Sarah made a frustrated sound and pulled her headphones from her ears, settling them around her neck. “Can’t I just plant my feet like this?” She gave her best approximation of the weaver stance, probably an imitation from an action vid. She twisted her body sideways, placing one foot in front of the other, extended her right arm, and braced it with her left. “The direction my toes decide to point doesn’t matter as much when I stand like this, right? And, look-” she flexed her legs to make a show of bouncing in place without leaving the floor. “Bent knees.”  

Nellus waited for her movements to still, keeping his face impassive while he asked a simple question: “Is the safety on?” 

Sarah blinked then glanced at her pistol, a smile breaking free. “Sure is!” she declared, gaze fixed on the green safety light of her rear sight. “I remembered.” 

Without warning, Nellus jabbed his talon into her left armpit, left exposed by the position of her arm. With a yelp, Sarah lept away and rounded on him-- keeping her gun pointed at the ground, he noted with a swell of pride. “What was that for?!”

“If that was a bullet you’d be dead,”  he explained simply. “Leaving your left armpit exposed like that gives the enemy a direct line to your heart. There’s a reason we don’t teach that stance to human officers.” 

All at once, whatever anger his action had incited drained from her face. “Okay.” She blew out a long breath and nodded. “I’ll keep working on the other one.” 

As she settled back into the previous position, setting and resetting her footing three times over, Nellus spoke up before she replaced her ear muffs. “Use your toes to aim.” 

“In that case, should I shut my eyes?” Another glib, toothy grin.

Nellus snorted.

“As long as the gun’s pointed that way,” he gestured at the hologram with a jerk of his head. “By all means, see what happens. But you might find it helpful to aim both your feet _and--”_ he gave her forehead a light tap. “--your attention at your target.”

Repositioning her headgear, Sarah raised her pistol and took a breath. With a squeeze of her finger, she fired. And missed again, but a smile split her mouth all the same. “I got it!” She declared, glancing between Nellus and the flickering hologram across the way, the side of its head glowing a crimson red where the bullet made contact. “Well, I took its ear off anyway, but I’ll take it!”

Nellus glanced down, giving her forward-facing feet a pointed look. Sarah followed his gaze and immediately shattered her perfect stance with an excited hop. 

“I’d call that a good note to leave on,” he acknowledged. “I say we celebrate with some noodles.” 

“What?!” 

Nellus glared as she giggled and pulled off her headset.

 

* * *

 

By the time they left the range, the noodle shop was closing so they took their meal to go. Nellus dragged the couch and kava table to their old places in front of the vid-screen, and they settled down with their cartons. 

He couldn’t recall the last time he just sat down and watched something. Normally, after quitting time, Nellus would come home and make an instant meal for dinner. The rest of the evening would be spent huddled beneath his sheets, his facial plates aglow in the light of his omni-tool as he tried to ignore the creeping horror of another day passing by. 

Waking up in the morning was going to be a bitch but as he glanced at his companion, he couldn't find it in him to care. 

Sarah smiled around a mouthful of noodles, savoring the taste as she made a pleased hum. 

Nellus snorted. “Here, I’ll toss those for you. They’re no good.” He made to reach for her carton but ultimately retreated when she brandished a saucy fork in retaliation. 

“Yeah, right!” she exclaimed, mouth hanging open as if floored by the very idea. “They’re delicious. Almost as good as mom’s.” Sarah closed her mouth and turned her attention to the carton in her hand, swirling her weapon in the slippery, pasta strings. “Her noodles were _biotic_.” 

Nellus paused, his helping of dextro-noodles lingering inches from his maw. “Biotic?” 

“Like ‘amazing?’ ‘Wonderful?’” 

“That what the kids are saying these days?” 

“I guess so.” 

“Huh.” The dextro-noodles completed their destination to his mouth. As he worked the pasta to the back of his throat, Nellus used the moment to ponder whether he should mention the stigma in turian culture against biotics. 

“What?” 

 _‘Probably not,’_ Nellus decided. It was too late for him to explain-- or stumble-- through a heavy topic like that. Knowing that Sarah wouldn’t take silence for an answer-- and that the longer it lasted, the more she’d persist-- he deflected, “Your mom made noodles?” 

“Oh, she made all kinds of things. Dad too, though he mostly stuck with stews. They were both kind of health nuts, all about raising us on home-cooked meals.” 

Oddly, Nellus imagined himself suddenly springing from his seat and knocking the carton from her hand. As if he was breaking some kind of rule and that Sarah would be poisoned with every oily fork-full of noodles she put in her body. It was a similar feeling to when he brought her cereal with sugar as the first ingredient. Maybe he wasn’t doing so well at… well he wasn’t sure what to call it. Parenting? Guardianship? 

Looking down at the carton in his hand, Nellus thought of his own parents. They never made time to prepare anything for him. Most days he just snacked on nutri-bars. Technically, those were healthy options that provided everything needed to keep a kid alive and functioning, but that’s all it was. There was no meal prep, no thought for what went into his body or whether he liked the taste or not. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Nellus blinked, realizing then that he was staring at her hand, at the greasy, quick-fix he had given her because he needed to feed her _something_. Spirits, the entire time she’d been with him he fed her nothing but take-out with no consideration for how healthy it actually was. Sarah sat there, cradling a temporary box, in a temporary home, with a temporary guardian. 

“Nothing,” he said, placing his carton of noodles on the kava table. “Let me get you a plate.”

And he was up and moving to the kitchen before she could object. 

 

* * *

 

Nellus stood alone on the outskirts of the ever-expanding turian encampment. At its center beat the heart--or maybe Felix was the stomach? 

Nellus resisted the urge to touch his own belly, if only to stifle the awful feeling of fluttering insects.

All day-- as well as some vestiges of the night before-- he had been building himself up for this moment. After shoving the couch and table back behind the screen and bidding Sarah goodnight, he'd contemplated his gameplan. His confidence levels swung between expecting _‘you’ve got to be kidding me. Get out, Nellus’_ to… well, scenarios that didn’t involve much cooking. 

Regrettably, his initial tactic of casually asking Felix for permission to drop by had already crumbled to pieces. He'd had the perfect opportunity, too. Felix had visited his desk earlier that day, but when the moment of truth came all Nellus could muster was a pitiful “be seeing you.” He then had to spend the next hour convincing himself that such a statement didn’t count as asking. He had done nothing but let his chance slip away.

The second obstacle had been Sarah. She was still nervous about being left alone so he had to approach the subject carefully. At the end of his shift, he'd called a cab and rode with her back to the apartment. Once there, it was a matter of assuring her that the door was fully secured and that he would have his omni-tool set to loud should she need anything. He'd also dusted off his old game-station for her entertainment and made sure the fridge was stocked with levo snacks.

Though she'd still been apprehensive, her tone-- annoyingly-- changed when he mentioned meeting with Felix. 

“ _Felix_?” She'd exclaimed far too loudly, a glint in her eye that Nellus didn’t trust. “All right, if it’s for Felix I suppose you can go. Should I tell him to have you back by ten?” 

Now, Nellus drew a breath, an attempt to settle his nerves but all it did was invade his senses with the smell of sweat and body odor. Sweat, body odor, and the lingering aroma of something cooking. 

_‘Here we fucking go.’_

Upon his approach-- he hoped the forced casualness of his gait wasn’t too obvious-- Felix was stationed at his usual post. Cubes of some kind of protein substitute-- but damn if it didn’t smell like real meat-- sizzled in a skillet in front of him. Small as the prefabs were, there was just enough room for a cot, a table, and the stove positioned just in front of the door-- a fire hazard-waiting-to-happen. It was a wonder who designed the damn things. 

As Nellus stepped into view at the entrance, Felix looked up, back down, and then did a double-take before dialing the heat low.

“Hey,” Felix greeted, turning to face Nellus as he stood-- hopefully not too awkwardly-- in the doorway.  “It’s been a while since you stopped by.” And _Spirits_ if his voice didn’t cause Nellus’ gizzard to clench uncomfortably.

“Yeah.” Nellus shifted his weight back in what he hoped was a relaxed stance. “Sorry about that.”

Felix shrugged. “It’s all right. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Didn’t mean to surprise you either.”

The lone, white-lined mandible flared to the side, an easy smile. “You didn’t. I’m just not used to seeing you without a desk between us.” A sea-green eye deliberately roved over Nellus from toe to fringe, a look that was far too deliberate to be anything more than jocular. “Almost forgot you’re taller than a meter.” 

Nellus dipped his chin. “I would’ve rolled myself over here with my chair but there’s too many damn bodies. I’d have to resort to beatin’ people out of the way with my nightstick as I squeaked along and--well, that wouldn’t be good press, would it?”

Felix chuckled, a sound that made Nellus indecisive on whether he wanted to move closer or run. A beat, in which Felix glanced over his shoulder to check on his task, then said, “You ever hear something that makes your brain say _‘that’s going to take up a lot of your time’?_ ”

“Story of my life. I take it the image of me beating refugees is one for you?” 

“Mostly just the image of you inching along in a squeaky chair, trying to reach my pre-fab while I just stand here and wonder ‘ _why?_ ’” 

“Also sweat.” Nellus nodded. “There would be a lot of sweat. So I just walked-- without beatin’ anyone, I might add. Kept my temper in check.”

“Thank the Spirits for small favors,” Felix countered, his face brightening as he laughed, a sound so contagious Nellus couldn’t help but join. It was as though he was with an old friend, an easy camaraderie that helped to shed the shell of binding anxiety that weighed on him seconds ago. When Felix stepped aside to silently invite him in, accepting was surprisingly easy.

“Oh, don’t thank them yet,” Nellus warned, stepping past the threshold. He glanced at the table and briefly considered taking a seat before turning on the spot to face his friend. “‘Fraid there’s a reason I’m darkening your doorstep.”

Another easy shrug, and a casual incline of his head as Felix eyed him sideways. “Well, it wasn’t going to darken itself.” 

 _‘Focus, you idiot.’_ Nellus berated himself, trying and failing to keep his mandibles from spreading into the stupidest smile. Glancing past Felix, Nellus looked to the stove sizzling near the doorway. “Mind showing me how to do that?”

Felix blinked. “Do what?”

“That.” Nellus lamely pointed and Felix followed his finger, regarded the stove, and returned with a puzzled look. 

Nellus never imagined that a single eye could convey as much skepticism as Felix’s did in that moment. “You want me to teach you how to cook?” he asked. 

“Is that so weird?”

“Yes.”

Like a biotic warp, power was pulled from his proverbial turbines and Nellus found himself suddenly fumbling for confidence. He couldn’t help but chirp in indignation.

“Sorry.” The green eye softened, and Felix hummed apologetically. “I'm just surprised. I hardly remember anything from my childhood, but I do remember getting bullied a lot for this.” He gestured to the stove.

“And I was probably one of the kids that did it, but-”

“You're too old.” Felix cut him off.

Forget fumbling. Nellus was floundering now. “What?”

“You're too old to have bullied me.”

“Hey,” Nellus chided, trying to keep the sting from his voice. “I can't be that much older than you, baby face. How old are you, anyway?”

The brightness of Felix’s eye dulled, and his lopsided smile waned into a frown, his face-- for once-- almost symmetrical. Regret crumpled Nellus’ posture faster than a hanar without their gravity field.

“Sorry. I forget about--” He vaguely waved at the damaged side of Felix's face. Hating himself. “-Well, you know.” Nellus felt as though he was drowning in his own stupidity. Mentally, he grasped for words that might hold him afloat and undo the damage he’d done. When none came, he decided it best to just press on. “Look, Felix, I decided to take Sarah in after that shooting she witnessed. The other night she was telling me stories of how her parents used to cook for her and her sister. I just…” His eyes cut to the floor, ashamed of himself even though, admittedly, Felix didn’t _seem_ angry. “I don't know... I thought maybe if I could do that for her every once in a while, it might make her feel more at home.”

“I don't think I know how to cook levo, Nellus,” Felix explained, not unkindly. 

Well, that wasn’t a ‘no.’ Nellus met Felix’s gaze, relieved to find him contemplative rather than hurt. He was still, staring without actually looking, as if he was genuinely reflecting on whatever past experiences were available to him and if any of them involved levo preparation. Encouraged, Nellus prompted, “How different can it really be? I figure if you just showed me the basics, I can learn the rest from extranet vids.”

The lone green eye, once staring pensively, sharpened into focus and, slowly, Felix’s mandible flared into a smile. It was the only warning Nellus received before Felix retaliated with his own barb. “All right. Let's start with boiling water.”

“Don't patronize me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@s0me-writer](https://s0me-writer.tumblr.com/)   
> 


End file.
